WILD 
NORTHLAND 

GER.  SIR  WM.  BUTLER 


(^  LIBRARY    ^ 

UNlVtnSlTY  ©F 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  UI&60 

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THE  WILD  NORTHLAND: 

BEING  THE  STORT  OF  A  WINTER 
JOURNET,  WITH  DOG,  ACROSS 
NORTHERN   NORTH   AMERICA 

By  GEN.   SIR  WILLIAM   FRANCIS 
JUTLER,   K.C.B. 

Author  ot  "Liteot  General  Gordon" 
♦*The  Great   Lone   Land"    etc.,   etc. 

fFITH   A   ROUTE    MAP 


NEW  AMSTERDAM   BOOK  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS:     NEW     YORK,     1903 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
NEW  AMSTERDAM    BOOK  COMPANY 

A'- 


PREFACE. 


People  are  supposed  to  have  au  object  in 
every  journey  they  undertake  in  this  world. 
A  man  goes  to  Africa  to  look  for  the  Nile, 
to  Rome  to  see  the  Coliseum  or  St.  Peter's; 
and  once,  I  believe,  a  certain  traveller  tramped 
all  the  way  to  Jerusalem  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  playing  ball  against  the  walls  of  that  city. 

As  this  matter  of  object,  then,  seems  to  be 
a  rule  with  travellers,  it  may  be  asked  by 
those  who  read  this  book,  what  object  had  the 
writer  in  undertaking  a  journey  across  the 
snowy  wilderness  of  North  America,  in  win- 
ter and  alone?  I  fear  there  is  no  answer  to 
be  given  to  the  question,  save  such  as  may 
be  found  in  the  motto  on  the  title-page,  or  in 
the  pages  of  the  book  itself. 

About  eighteen  mouths  ago  I  was  desirous 
of  entering  upon  African  travel.  A  great  ex- 
plorer had  been  lost  for  years  in  the  vast 
lake-region  of  Southern  Central  Africa,  and 
the  British  Nation — which,  by  the  way,  be- 
comes singularly  attached  to  a  man  when  he 
is  dead,  or  supposed  to  be  dead — grew  anx- 
ious to  go  out  to  look  for  him. 


PREFACE. 

As  the  British  Nation  could  not  all  go  out 
at  once,  or  together,  it  endeavoured  to  select 
one  or  two  individuals  to  cairy  out  its  wislies. 

It  will  l)e  only  necessary  to  state  here,  that 
the  I'.ritisli  Nation  did  not  select  the  writer 
of  this  book,  who  forthwith  turned  his  atten- 
tion from  African  tropic  zones  to  American 
frigid  ones,  and  started  out  upon  a  lonely 
cruise. 

Many  tracks  lay  before  me  in  that  immense 
region  I  call  "The  Wild  North  Land." 
Former  wandering  had  made  me  familiar  with 
the  methods  of  travel  pursued  in  these  coun- 
tries by  the  Indian  tribes,  or  far-scattered 
fur-hunters.  Fortunate  in  recovering  posses- 
sion of  an  old  and  long-tried  Esquimau  dog 
— the  companion  of  earlier  travel — I  started 
in  the  autumn  of  1872  from  the  Ketl  River 
of  tlie  North,  and,  reaching  Lake  Athabasca, 
completed  half  my  journey  by  the  first  week 
of  March  in  the  following  year.  From  Atha- 
basca I  followed  the  many-winding  channel 
of  the  frozen  Peace  River  to  its  great  caiion 
in  tlie  Rocky  Mountains,  and,  journeying 
through  this  pass — for  many  reasons  the 
most  remarkable  one  in  the  whole  range  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains — reached  the  north  of 
British  Columbia  in  the  end  of  May.  From 
thence,  following  a  trail  of  '^^)0  miles  through 
tlie  dense  forests  of  New  Caledonia,  I  emerged 
on  tlie  3rd  of  June  at  the  frontier  station  of 


PREFACE. 

Quesnelle  on  the  Frazer  Eiver,  still  400  miles 
north  of  Victoria. 

In  the  en.suing  pages  the  story  of  tliat  long 
tramp — for  it  was  mostly  jx'iformed  on  foot 
■ — will  be  duly  set  forth  Written  by  camp 
fire,  or  in  caiion,  or  in  the  little  log-house 
of  a  northern  fnr  fort,  when  dogs  and  men 
rested  for  a  day  or  two  in  the  long  icy  run, 
that  narrative  will  be  found,  I  fear,  to  bear 
many  indications  of  the  rough  scenes  'mid 
which  it  has  been  penned ;  but,  as,  on  a  former 
occasion,  many  critics  passed  in  gentle  silence 
over  the  faults  and  failings  of  another  story 
of  travel  in  the  Great  Lone  Land,  so  now  it 
may  be  my  fortune  to  tell  to  as  kindly  an 
audience,  this  record  of  a  winter's  walk 
through  more  distant  wilds — for  in  truth 
there  has  been  neither  time  for  revision  nor 
correction. 

Fortune,  Avhich  eighteen  months  ago  de- 
nied me  African  adventure,  offers  it  now  with 
liberal  hand. 

I  reached  the  Atlantic  from  the  Pacific 
shore  to  find  an  expedition  starting  from 
England  against  Ashantee ;  and  long  ere  this 
story  finds  a  reader  I  hope  to  be  pushing  my 
way  through  the  mangrove  swamps  which  lie 
between  the  Gold  Coast  and  Coomassie.  To 
others  even  must  fall  the  task  of  correcting 
proofs,  while  I  assume  my  part  in  the  correc- 
tion and  revision  of  King  Koffi  Kancalli,  and 

V 


PREFACE. 

the  administration  to  his  subjects  of  that 
l»roof  ol'  ]5iitish  i)rowess  Avhich  it  has  been 
deemed  desiraijle  to  give  them. 

iVreantime,  my  ohl  friends  Chief  Kar-ka- 
konias,  Kalder,  and  Cerf-vola,  will  be  absent 
from  this  new  field:  but,  nevertheless,  there 
will  be  present  many  companions  of  former 
travel,  and  one  Chief  under  whose  command 
I  first  sought  the  Great  Lone  Land  as  the 
threshold  to  remoter  regions. 

W.   F.   Butler. 

Loxijox,  Sept  em  her  21st,  3873. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Among  the  thousand?  of  books  sent  out 
month  after  month  by  the  ever-busy  presses 
of  the  world,  only  an  occasional  one  is  fitted 
to  survive.  Books  of  travel  in  particular  are 
seldom  read  a  generation  after  their  produc- 
tion; they  must  contain  something  of  almost 
universal  interest,  otherwise  they  are  speed- 
ily relegated  to  a  forgotten  shelf  to  accumu- 
late the  dust  of  neglect.  While  this  is  true 
of  the  great  majority  of  such  publications  it 
is  not  true  of  all;  an  occasional  volume,  like 
"The  Wild  Northland,"  by  virtue  of  some 
inherent  quality  very  hard  to  adequately 
specify,  is  sought  for  year  after  year;  edition 
after  edition  of  it  comes  from  the  press,  and 
still  the  demand  for  it  by  the  great  reading 
public  remains  unsatisfied  For  this  reason 
General  Butler's  masterpiece  is  reprinted  iu 
the  Commonwealth  Library. 

The  author  of  "  The  Wild  Northland  "  has 

risen  high  in    the  British    service  since  his 

great  book  was  written.     Grade  after  grade 

was  reached,  from  Ensign  of  the  69th  Regi- 

vii 


THE   WILD  NOKTH  LAND. 

nieiit  in  1858,  to  Major-General  commanding 
the  Ilouie  Department  of  the  Southwest, 
witli  headquarters  at  Devonport  in  1900. 
He  served  his  country  in  Canada,  in  Ashan- 
cee,  in  Egypt,  in  the  Soudan,  and  in  South 
Africa.  During  all  these  years  of  service 
he  accomplished  considerable  literary  work. 
The  list  of  his  books  includes :  "  The  Great 
Lone  Land,"  "The  Wild  :N'orthland,"  "Akim 
Foo,"  "Far  Out:  Rovings  Retold,"  "Red 
Cloud,  the  Solitary  Sioux,"  "The  Campaign 
of  the  Cataracts,"  "Life  of  General  Gor- 
don," "Life  of  Sir  Charles  Napier,"  etc. 

]>orn  in  the  County  of  Tipperary,  Ireland, 
in  1838,  of  a  good  Irish  family,  Butler  was 
educated  in  Dublin  and  entered  the  Army  in 
1858.  In  1877  he  married  the  distinguished 
painter.  Miss  Elizabeth  Thompson. 

General  Butler's  connection  with  American 
exploration  began  very  soon  after  his  regi- 
ment landed  iu  Canada.  In  1870-1  he  was 
dispatched  on  a  special  mission  to  the  Sas- 
katcliewan  Territories.  Almost  immediately 
after  his  return  he  started  on  the  solitary  and 
lonely  journey  through  the  interior  of  tlie 
Continent — a  journey  which  will  associate  his 
name  with  pioneer  work  in  the  North  Ameri- 
can Continent  for  all  lime. 

The  "  Wild  Korlliland  "  of  General  Butler 
is  that  portion  of  North  America  where  the 
region  of  forest  terminates,  and  that  of  the 
viii 


INTRODUCTION. 

frozen  barren  lands  commences.  Its  grand 
and  desolate  scenery,  its  lakes  and  forests, 
its  lofty  mountains  and  profound  ravines,  are 
admirably  described;  the  incidents  of  travel 
keep  the  reader's  attention  well  sustained,  as 
he  is  carried  in  imagination  across  the  wildest 
portions  of  the  North.  General  Butler's 
wanderings  led  him  from  Fort  Garry  on  the 
Red  River  to  the  Athabaska  Lake,  and 
thence  up  the  Peace  River,  and  through  u 
wild  gorge  in  the  Rockies  to  British  Columbia 

Fort  Chipewyan  on  this  route  is  a  place  of 
peculiar  interest;  for  it  is  a  station  whence 
several  famous  Arctic  land  expeditions  of 
former  days  have  taken  their  departure.  It 
was  from  this  point  that  Mackenzie  set  forth 
to  explore  the  great  northern  river  which 
bears  his  name.  It  was  from  here  also  that 
Simpson  started  on  his  expedition  to  examine 
the  coast-line  of  the  Arctic  Ocean.  Franklin 
and  Richardson  rested  on  the  shores  of  Atha- 
baska before  they  struck  deeper  into  the  heart 
of  the  Great  North. 

The  route  across  the  Rocky  Mountains  by 
following  the  ravines  of  the  Peace  River,  as 
described  by  General  Butler,  passes  through 
^scenery  of  marvelous  grandeur.  Most  of  the 
streams  which  feed  the  Great  Slave  Lake  and 
the  Mackenzie  take  their  rise  in  the  Western 
side  of  the  range,  and  force  a  passage  through 
it,  The  Peace  River  cleaves  the  main  chain 
ix 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAXD. 

of  the  Eockies  through  a  cliasin  with  steep 
perpeudiciUar  cliffs  of  great  height  on  either 
side,  and  the  current  floAvs  silently  under  the 
immense  precipice  without  a  break.  This 
awful  gorge  was  the  route  by  which  Sir  Alex- 
ander Mackenzie,  over  a  hundred  years  ago, 
crossed  the  mountains  to  the  Pacific  Coast.  I 
believe  I  am  correct  in  saying  that  the  pro- 
jected extension  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Rail- 
way of  Canada  is  to  reach  British  Columbia 
through  this  pass. 

The  Peace  River,  with  the  ranges  on  the 
south  and  north  of  it,  make  the  dividing  line 
between  the  temperate  and  strictly  Arctic 
fauna.  Here,  too,  is  the  land  of  the  moose, 
and  the  author  gives  an  interesting  account 
of  the  skill  and  cunning  with  Avhich  the  great 
deer  strives  to  elude  his  pursuers,  and  of  the 
superior  intelligence,  aided  by  long  experi- 
ence, which  enables  the  Indian  hunter  to  cir- 
cumvent him. 

Very  fascinating  is  General  Butler's  vivid 
description  of  the  higher  mountains,  "  their 
lower  ridges  clothed  in  forests  of  spruce, 
poplar,  and  birch;  their  middle  heights  cov- 
ered with  dense  thickets  of  spruce  alone;  their 
summits  cut  with  a  thousand  varied  peaks, 
bearing  aloft  into  the  sunshine  8,000  feet 
above  us  the  glittering  crowns  of  snow." 
Butler  excels  in  these  descriptions  of  scenery, 
and  the   imagination  of  the  reader  is   kept 


INTRODUCTION. 

constantly  stretched   not   to   miss   anything 
material  in  the  magnificent  panorama. 

Such  scenes  as  these,  however,  were  not 
visited  in  the  early  days  Avithout  the  exercise 
of  much  hardihood  and  daring,  without  the 
endurance  of  hardship  and  the  facing  of  dan- 
gers. Xature  reserves  the  enjoyment  of  her 
grandest  scenes  only  for  the  bravest  and  most 
resolute  of  the  sons  of  men.  Such  men  are 
not  often  gifted  with  the  art  of  conveying 
some  portion  of  their  pleasure,  at  second 
hand,  to  their  brethren.  It  is  very  rarely  in- 
deed that  the  restless  wanderer,  whose  love 
of  adventure  leads  him  into  the  wildest  re- 
cesses of  distant  mountains,  can  reproduce 
his  impressions  with  the  skill  and  power  that 
are  shown  in  "The  Wild  Northland."  It 
is  the  wide  recognition  of  this  fact  which  has 
placed  this  notable  book  among  the  classics. 

Egbert  Waite. 

New  York,  December,  1903. 


xi 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

The  Situation  at  Home— The  "West  Again — A 
Land  of  Silence, 1 

CHAPTER   II. 

Powder    Terms    Primroses  —  Tlie    American 

Lounger — "Home,  Sweet  Home,"       .        .      6 

CHAPTER  III. 

Civilization  and  Savagery — Fort  Garry  Under 
New  Aspects  —  Social  Societies  —  An  Old 
Friend — "  Pony  "  the  Perverse,   .         .         .10 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Wilderness— A  Sunset  Scene— A  White 
Savage— Cerf-Vola  the  Untiring- Dogger- 
el for  a  Dog— The  Hill  of  the  Wolverine 
—The  Indian  Paradise — I  Plan  a  Surprise 
— Biscuits  and  Water,  .         .        .         .20 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Forks  of  the  Saskatchewan — A  Perverse 
Parallel— Diplomatic  Bungling— Its  Re- 
sults,     35 

xiii 


CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER  VI. 

PAGE 

Uur  "Winter  Home— A  Welcome— I  Start  Again 
— Tlie  Hunter's  Camp— In  Quest  of  Buffa- 
lo on  tlie  Plains — "Lodge-poling"  Leads 
to  Love, 41 

CHAPTER  Vn. 

An  Ocean  of  Grass— The  Red  Man — Whence 
Comes  He? — The  Buffalo — Puritans  and 
Pioneers- The  Red  Man's  Friend,       .         .     4G 

CHAPTER  Vni. 

Buffalo  Hunts — A  Pictuie  Once  Seen  Long  Re- 
memljered  —  L'Homme  Capable — A  Won- 
derful Lake — The  Lost  Indian — An  Appari- 
tion— We  Return  Home,      .        .        .        .54 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Strange  Visitors — At-tistighat  The  Philosopher 
— Indian  Converts — A  Domestic  Scene — 
The  Winter  Packet — Adam  and  his  Dogs,     67 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  Tale  of  AVarfare — Dog-sleds — A  Missing 
Link  —  The  North  Sea  —  "  Winterers  " — 
Samuel  Hearne, 80 

CHAPTER  XL 

A  Dog  of  No  Character — The  Green  Lake — Lac 
He  a  la  Crosse — A  Cold  Day — Fort  He  a  la 
Crosse— A  Long  lost  Brother — Lost  Upon 
xiv 


k 


CONTENTS. 

PACE 

the  Lake — Unwelcome  Neighlxmrs — Mr. 
Roderick  Mrtclurlaue — "A  Beautilul  Morn- 
ing " — Marble  Features,       .         .         ,         ,1)3 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Clearwater — A  Bygone  Ocean — A  Land  of 
Lakes  —  The  Athabasca  River  —  Who  is 
He  ? — Chipewyan  Indians —  Echo  —  Major 
Succumbs  at  Last — Mai  de  Raquette,  .  115 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

Lake  Athabasca  —  Northern  Lights  —  Chipe- 
wyan—The  Real  Workers  of  the  World,    .  131 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  Hudson's  Bay  Fort — It  Comes  at  Last — 
News  From  the  Outside  World — Tame  and 
Wild  Savages — Lac  Clair — A  Treacherous 
Deed— Harper,     ...  .        .  140 

CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Peace  River — Volcanos — M.  Jean  Batiste 
St.  Cyr — Half  a  Loaf  is  Better  Than  no 
Bread— An  Oasis  in  the  Desert — Tecumseh 
and  Black  Hawk, 155 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Buffalo  Hills— A  Fatal  Quarrel— The  Ex- 
iled Beavers  —  "At-tal-loo"  Deplores  His 
Wives — A  Cree  Interior — An  Attractive 
Camp — I  Camp  Alone — Cerf-vola  Without 
a  Supper — The  Recreants  Return — Dunve- 
gan— A  Wolf-hunt, 168 

XV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

PAGE 

Alexander  Mackenzie — The  First  Sign  of  Spring 
— Spanker  the  Suspicious — Cerf-vola  Con- 
templates Cutlets  —  An  Indian  Hunter — 
"Encumbrances" — Furs  and  Finery  —  A 
"Dead  Fall  "—The  Fur  Trade  at  Both 
Ends— An  Old  Fort— A  Night  Attack— 
Wife-lifting— Cerf-vola  in  Difficulties  and 
Boots— The  Rocky  Mountains  at  Last,        .  188 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  wild  Animals  of  the  Peace  River— Indian 
Method  of  Hunting  the  Moose — Twa-poos — 
The  Beaver— The  Bear— Bear's  Butter— A 
Bear's  Hug  and  How  it  Ended — Fort  St. 
John — The  River  Awakes — A  Rose  With- 
out a  Thorn — Nigger  Dan — A  Threatening 
Letter — I  Issue  a  Judicial  Memorandum — 
Its  Effect  is  all  That  Could  be  Desired— 
Working  up  the  Peace  River,     .        .        .  203 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Start  From  St.  John's — Crossing  the  Ice — Ba- 
tiste le  Fleur — Chimeroo — The  Last  Wood- 
buffalo — A  Dangerous  Weapon — Our  Raft 
Collapses — Across  the  Half-way  River,      .  233 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Hudson's  Hope — A  Lover  of  Literature — Cross- 
ing the  Peace — An  Unskilful  Pilot — We 
are  Upset — Our  Rescue — A  Strange  Vari- 
ety of  Arms— The  Buffalo's  Head — A  Glo- 
rious View. 233 

xvi 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

rA«E 
Jciccjues,  the  Ficncli  Miner — A  I'Varfiil  Altyss 
— Tlie  Great  Cafiou  of  tlie  Peace  River — 
We  Are  oil"  on  our  Western  Way — L'nfor 
tunate  Indians — A  Burnt  Baby — "The 
Moose  Tliat  Walks," 244 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

Still  Westward — The  Dangers  of  the  Ice — We 
Enter  the  Main  Range — In  the  Mountains 
— A  Grizzly — The  Death  of  tlie  Moose — 
Peace  River  Pass — Pete  Toy — The  Omini- 
ca— -'Travellers"  at  Home,         .        .        .260 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  Black  Canon — An  Ugly  Prospect — The 
Vanished  Boat — We  Struggle  on — A  For- 
rorn  Hope — We  Fail  Again — An  Unhoped- 
for Meeting  and  a  Feast  of  Joy — The 
Black  Canon  Conquered,     ....  276 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Untiring  Over-estimates  his  Powers — He 
is  not  Particular  as  to  the  Nature  of  his 
Dinner — Toil  and  Temper  —  Farewell  to 
the  Ominica — Germansen — The  Mining 
Camp— Celebrities, 292 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

Mr.  Rufus  Sylvester — Tlie  Untiring  Developes 
a  New  Sphere  of  Usefulness — Mansen — A 

Last  Landmark 302 

xvii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

PAGB 

British  Columbia — Bouudaiics  Again — Juau  dc 
Fu(;ii — Carver — The  Sliiuing  Mountains — 
Jacob  Astor — The  Monarch  of  Salmon — 
Oregon  —  "  Riding  and  Tying  " — Nation 
Lake— The  Pacific, 308 

CHAPTER   XXVn. 

The  Look-out  Mountain— A  Gigantic  Tree — 
The  Untiring  Retires  Before  Superior  Num- 
bers— Fort  St.  James — A  Strange  Sight  in 
the  Forest— Lake  Noola — Quesnelle — Cerf- 
vola  in  Civilized  Life — Old  Dog,  Good- 
bye!      325 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER  I. 


The  Situation  at  Home — The  West  Again — 
A  Land  of  Silence. 

There  had  never  been  so  many  armies  in 
England.  There  was  a  new  army,  and  there 
was  an  old  army ;  there  was  an  army  of  mili- 
tia, an  army  of  volunteers,  and  an  army  of 
reserve ;  there  were  armies  on  horse,  on  foot, 
and  on  paper.  There  was  the  army  of  the 
future — of  which  great  things  were  predicted 
— and  far  away,  lost  in  a  haze  of  history  (but 
still  more  substantial  than  all  other  armed 
realities,  present  or  future),  there  lay  the 
great  dead  army  of  the  past. 

It  was  a  time  when  everybody  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  military  matters,  everybody 
on  the  social  ladder,  from  the  Prime  Minister 
on  the  topmost  round  to  the  mob-mover  on 
the  lowest. 

Committees  controlled  the  army.  Depart- 
ments dressed  it,  Radicals  railed  at  it,  Lib- 
1 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

erals  ler-tured  upon  it,  Conservatives  con- 
demni'd  it,  Teeis  wrote  pamphlets  upon  it, 
Dukes  denounced  it,  I'rinces  paraded  it,  and 
every  member  of  Parliament  who  could  put 
together  half  a  dozen  words  with  tolerable 
grammatical  fluency  had  something  to  say 
about  it 

Surely  such  a  period  must  have  been  one 
in  which  every  soldier  would  have  recognized 
the  grandeur  and  importance  of  his  profes- 
sion, and  clung  with  renewed  vigour  to  a  life 
which  seemed  of  moment  to  the  whole  Bitish 
nation.  But  this  glowing  picture  of  the  great 
"nation  of  shop-keepers,"  suddenly  fired  by 
military  ardour,  had  its  reverse. 

The  stream  of  advancement  slowly  stag- 
nating under  influences  devised  to  accelerate 
it,  the  soldier  wearied  by  eternally  learning 
from  masters  the  lesson  he  could  have  taught, 
the  camp  made  a  place  of  garrison  routine 
and  not  of  military  manoeuvre,  the  uniform 
harness  Avhicli  had  galled  a  Burton,  a  Pal- 
grave,  a  Ruxton,  and  a  Hayward,  from  ranks 
Avhere  the  spirit  of  adventurous  discovery 
sickened  under  chilling  regulation — this  har- 
ness made  more  unrelaxingly  irksome ;  a  sys- 
tem of  promotion  regulated  by  money — the 
offspring,  it  is  true,  of  foul  corruption,  but 
which  had  become  not  a  little  purified  by 
lapse  of  time;  this  system,  supplanted  by 
one  of  selection  theoretically  pure,  but  des- 
2 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

tined  to  fall  into  that  lowest  of  all  corrup- 
tions, the  influence  of  jwlitical  jobbery :  all 
this  formed  the  leading  features  in  that  order 
of  things,  old  and  new,  which  the  spectacle 
of  a  neighbouring  nation,  struck  suddenly  to 
the  ground  by  a  mighty  army,  had  caused  the 
l)anic-stricken  British  people  to  overhaul  and 
to  reconstruct. 

Taken  any  way  one  can,  an  army  on  paper 
is  not  a  satisfactory  profession.  It  is  subject 
to  sudden  and  unlooked-for  bursts  of  military 
zeal ;  it  is  so  bent  upon  nervously  asserting 
itself  fit  for  anything ;  it  is  from  its  nature  so 
much  akin  to  pen,  ink,  and  envelope  of  a 
common-place  type ;  it  has  such  disagreeable 
methods  at  garrisoning  the  most  pestilential 
spots  upon  the  earth,  and  abandoning  to  re- 
publican bluster  whole  continents  called  colo- 
nies; those  who  shape  its  destinies  are  so 
ready  to  direct  it  against  matchlock  monarchs 
and  speared  soldier}^ ;  while  arms  are  folded 
before  those  conflicts  which  change  the  past 
and  future  of  the  centuries ;  all  these  consid- 
erations go  a  great  way  towards  making  the 
profession  of  arms,  on  paper,  at  any  time  an 
anomaly. 

But  when  there  was  also  present  to  the 
memory  of  one  who  thus  regarded  the  new 
order  of  military  life,  the  great  solitudes,  the 
inland  oceans,  the  desolate  wilds,  the  gloomy 
forests  of  a  far-away  land,  through  which  his 
3 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

fonnei'  wanderings  had  carried  liini ;  wlien 
thought  re-sought  again  those  vast  regions  of 
the  earth  where  Kature  has  graven  her  image 
in  characters  so  colossal,  that  man  seems  to 
move  slowly  amidst  an  ocean  frozen  rigid 
by  lapse  of  time,  frozen  into  those  things 
we  name  mountains,  rivers,  prairies,  forests; 
man  a  mere  speck,  powerless  so  far  to  mark 
his  presence,  in  blur  of  smoke,  in  noise  of 
city,  in  clash  of  crank,  or  whirl  of  wheel: 
when  these  things  came  back  in  pictures 
touched  by  the  soft  colours  Memory  loves  to 
limn  with,  there  were  not  wanting  dull  pro- 
fessional outlooks  and  dearth  of  service  to 
turn  the  footsteps  gladly  into  the  old  regions 
again,  there  to  trace  new  paths  through  the 
almost  exhaustless  waste  which  lies  between 
the  lonely  prairies  of  the  Saskatchewan  and 
the  icy  oceans  of  the  Xorth. 

What  shall  we  call  this  land  to  those  who 
follow  us  into  its  depths? 

It  has  prairies,  forests,  mountains,  barren 
wastes,  and  rivers ;  rivers  whose  single  lengths 
roll  through  twice  a  thousand  miles  of  shore- 
land  ;  prairies  over  which  a  rider  can  steer 
for  months  without  resting  his  gaze  on  aught 
save  the  dim  verge  of  the  ever-shifting  hori- 
zon; mountains  rent  by  rivers,  ice-topped, 
glacier-seared,  impassable;  forests  whose 
sombre  pines  darken  a  region  half  as  large  as 
Europe ;  sterile,  treeless  wilds  whose  400,000 
4 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

square  miles  lie  spread  in  awful  desolation. 
How  shall  it  all  be  called? 

In  summer,  a  land  of  sound,  a  land  echo- 
ing with  the  voices  of  birds,  the  ripple  of 
running  water,  the  mournful  music  of  the 
waving  pine-branch ;  in  winter,  a  land  of  si- 
lence, a  land  hushed  to  its  inmost  depths  by 
the  weight  of  ice,  the  thick-falling  snow,  the 
intense  rigor  of  a  merciless  cold — its  great 
rivers  glimmering  in  the  moonlight,  wrapped 
in  their  shrouds  of  ice ;  its  still  forests  rising 
weird  and  spectral  against  the  Aurora-lighted 
horizon ;  its  notes  of  bird  or  brook  hushed  as 
if  in  death ;  its  nights  so  still  that  the  mov- 
ing streamers  across  the  northern  skies  seem 
to  carry  to  the  ear  a  sense  of  sound,  so  mo- 
tionless around,  above,  below,  lies  all  other 
visible  nature. 

If  then  we  call  this  region  the  land  of  still- 
ness, that  name  will  convey  more  justly  than 
any  other  the  impress  most  strongly  stamped 
upon  the  winter's  scene. 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER   II. 

Powder  versus  Primroses — The  American  Lounger 
— "Home,  Sweet  Home." 

It  was  just  time  to  leave  London.  The 
elm-trees  in  the  parks  were  beginning  to  put 
forth  their  earliest  and  greenest  leaves;  in- 
numerable people  were  flocking  into  town 
because  custom  ordained  that  the  country- 
must  be  quitted  when  the  spring  is  at  its 
finest ;  as  though  the  odor  of  primroses  had 
something  pestilential  about  it,  and  anything 
in  the  shape  of  violets  except  violet  powder 
was  terribly  injurious  to  feminine  beauty. 

Youthful  cosmopolites  with  waxed  mous- 
taches had  apparently  decided  to  compromise 
with  the  spring,  and  to  atone  for  their  aban- 
donment of  the  country  by  making  a  minia- 
ture flower-garden  of  their  button-holes.  It 
was  the  last  day  of  April,  and  ere  the  sum- 
mer leaves  had  yellowed  along  the  edge  of  the 
great  sub- Arctic  forest,  my  winter  hut  had  to 
be  hewn  and  built  from  the  pine-logs  of  the 
far-distant  Saskatchewan. 

In  the  saloon  or  on  the  after-deck  of  a 
Cunard  steamship  steering  west,  one  sees 
perhaps  more  of  America's  lounging  class 
6 


THE   WILD   NORTH    LAND. 

than  can  be  met  with  on  any  other  spot  in  the 
world ;  the  class  is  a  limited  one,  in  fact  it 
may  be  a  matter  of  dispute,  whether  the 
pure  and  simple  lounger,  as  we  know  him  in 
Piccadilly  or  Pall  ]Mall,  is  to  be  found  in  the 
New  World;  but  a  three,  or  six,  or  twelve 
months'  visit  to  Europe  has  sufficiently  de- 
veloped the  dormant  instincts  of  the  class  in 
the  New  Vork  or  Boston  man  of  business,  to 
give  color  to  the  assumption  that  Columbia 
possesses  a  lounger. 

It  is  possible  that  he  is  a  lounger  only  for 
the  moment.  That  one  glimpse  of  Bunker, 
one  echo  of  "Wall  Street,  will  utterly  banish 
for  ever  the  semblance  of  lounging ;  but  for 
the  present  the  Great  Pyramid  /ninns  Bun- 
ker's Hill,  the  Corso  /« //^ //*- Wall  Street,  have 
done  something  toward  stamping  him  with 
the  air  and  manner  of  the  idler.  For  the 
moment  he  sips  his  coffee,  or  throws  his  ci- 
gar-end overboard,  with  a  half-thoughtful, 
halt-bhtse  air ;  for  the  moment  he  has  discov- 
ered that  the  sun  does  not  rise  and  set  exclu- 
sively in  the  United  States,  and  that  there 
were  just  a  few  shreds  and  patches  of  history 
in  the  world  prior  to  the  declaration  of  Ameri- 
can independence:  still,  when  the  big  ship 
has  steamed  on  into  the  shallow  waters  Avhich 
narrow  into  Sandy  Hook  or  Plymouth  Sound, 
and  the  broad  panorama  twixt  Long  Island 
and  Staten,  or  Plymouth  and  Nahant  opens 
7 


THE  "WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

on  the  view,  the  old  feeling  comes  back  with 
the  old  scenes  again. 

"  Sir,  the  Bay  of  New  York  closely  resem- 
bles the  Bay  of  Naples."  There  is  not  the 
slighest  use  in  telling  him  that  it  is  quite 
as  like  the  Bey  of  Tunis,  or  the  Hospodar  of 
Bulgaria — so  we  let  it  be 

"There,  sir,  is  Bunker's  Hill." 

"  Ah,  indeed  I  "  drawled  a  genuine  British 
lounger,  with  that  superb  ignorance  only  to 
be  attained  after  generations  of  study,  as  he 
(piietly  scanned  the  ridge  through  his  lazilj'- 
arranged  eye-glass.  "Bunker — who  was 
J*)unker?  and  what  did  he  do  on  his  hill?" 

Yet,  ere  we  hasten  away  to  the  North, 
another  word  anent  our  cousin.  These  things 
are,  after  all,  the  exception;  the  temptation 
to  tell  a  good  story,  or  what  we  may  deem 
such,  must  not  blind  us  to  the  truth ;  the 
other  side  of  the  question  must  not  be  forgot- 
ten. An  English  traveller  in  America  will 
have  so  much  to  thank  American  travel  for 
that  he  can  well  afford  to  smile  at  such 
things. 

It  was  an  American  who  painted  for  us  the 
last  scenes  of  Moorish  historj^,  with  a  colour- 
ing as  brilliant  as  that  which  the  Hall  of  the 
Lions  could  boast  of  in  tlie  old  days  of  Gre- 
nada's glory.  To-day  an  American  dwelling 
in  Home  recalls  for  us  in  marble  the  fierce 
voluptuous  beauty  of  the  Egyptian  Queen. 
8 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

Another  catches  the  colouring  of  Claude,  in 
his  ''Twilight  in  the  Wilderness."  And  if, 
as  I  have  somewhere  heard,  it  is  to  the  writer 
of  the  ballad-song  that  true  poetic  fame  be- 
longs, that  song  which  is  heard  at  lonely 
camp-fires,  which  is  sung  by  sailors  at  the 
wheel  as  the  canvas-clouded  ship  reels  on 
under  the  midnight  gloom  through  the  tum- 
bling seas — the  song  which  has  reached  the 
heart  of  a  nation,  and  lives  forever  in  the 
memory  of  a  people — then  let  us  remember, 
when  we  listen  to  those  wondrous  notes  on 
whose  wings  float  the  simple  words,  "  Be  it 
ever  so  humble,  there  is  no  place  like  home;" 
let  us  remember  the  land  whose  memory  called 
them  forth  from  the  heart  of  an  American 
exile. 

And  now  we  must  away. 


THE   AVILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Civilization  and  Savagery — Fort  Garry  under  New 
Aspects  —  Social  Societies — An  Old  Friend  — 
"  Pony"  the  Perverse. 

The  long,  hot,  dusty  American  simimer 
was  drawing  to  a  close.  The  sand-fly  had 
had  his  time,  the  black-fly  had  run  his  round 
the  mosquito  had  nearly  bitten  himself  to 
death,  and  during  that  operation  had  ren- 
dered existence  unbearable  to  several  millions 
of  the  human  race.  The  quiet  tranquil  fall- 
time  had  followed  the  fierce  wasting  summer, 
and  all  nature  seemed  to  rest  and  bask  in  the 
mellow  radiance  of  September. 

In  old  tales,  written  I  know  not  by  whom, 
but  read  chiefly  by  youthful  eyes,  we  are  told 
of  those  who  seek  through  lands  infested  by 
goblins  and  demons,  by  monstrous  and  un- 
couth forms  of  man  and  beast,  for  some  fair 
realm  of  rest  and  happiness.  He  who  to-day 
would  seek  the  great  solitudes  of  North 
America  must  pass  through  a  somewhat 
similar  ordeal. 

Civilization,  or  what  we  term  such,  rolls 
with  queer  strides  across  the  American  con- 
tinent. Far  in  advance  of  the  last  i-eal  city 
10 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

lies  a  land  of  terrible  savagery,  a  desolate 
realm  in  which  ruffianism  and  rowdyism  hold 
sway.  Here,  in  an  expansion  which  is  ever 
shifting,  ever  moving  west  and  northwest, 
stand  congregated  the  civilizers  of  the 
New  World — the  navvy,  the  gambler,  the 
rowdy,  the  saloon-keeper,  tlie  tramster,  the 
murderer. 

To  civilize  a  new  land  is  the  easiest  of 
tasks  if  we  but  set  about  it  after  the  American 
model.  Here  is  the  recipe.  Given  a  realm 
from  which  the  red  man  has  been  banished, 
tricked,  shot,  or  hunted  out ;  from  which  the 
bison  and  elk  have  been  chased ;  a  lonely, 
tenantless  land,  with  some  great  river  flowing 
in  long  winding  reaches  silently  through  its 
vast  plains  and  mountain  gorges:  here,  then, 
is  what  you  have  to  do : 

Place  on  the  river  a  steamboat  of  the  rudest 
construction .  Wherever  the  banks  are  easy 
of  ascent,  or  where  a  smaller  stream  seeks 
the  main  river,  build  a  drinking-house  of 
rough-hewn  logs;  let  the  name  of  God  be 
used  only  in  blasphemy,  and  language  be  a 
medium  for  the  conveyance  of  curses.  Call  a 
hill  a  "bluff,"  a  valley  a  "gnlch,"  a  tire-fly 
a  "lightning  bug,"  a  man  "a  cuss,"  three 
shanties  a  "city."  Let  every  man  chew 
when  he  isn't  smoking,  and  spit  when  he 
isn't  asleep;  and  then — when  half  a  dozen 
persons  have  come  to  violent  ends — when 
U 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

killing  has  literally  become  "  no  murder  " — 
3^our  new  land  will  be  thoroughly  civilized. 

Poor,  wild  man  of  the  West!  scalper, 
war-raider,  savage  dweller  in  woods  and  on 
prairies;  believer  in  manitous  and  dream- 
omens,  painted  and  eagle-feathered;  crafty, 
stealthy,  and  treacherous  to  foe,  utterly 
hopeless  to  the  man-tamer :  this  is  the  state 
of  things  which  supplants  thy  savagery. 
This  is  civilization  as  it  comes  to  thee  from 
the  East  Whenever  thy  wandering  bands 
roam  in  from  the  great  West,  this  is  the 
sight  they  see  in  lands  but  lately  their  own. 

I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  in  Avild  glen  or 
lonely  prairie,  amidst  races  whose  very  names 
are  supposed  to  be  synonymous  with  all  tliat 
is  wild,  lawless,  or  barbarous,  I  have  known 
many  a  bond  of  sympathy,  many  a  link  t'wixt 
their  lives  and  mine  own.  Nay,  when  man 
has  been  far  distant,  and  nought  but  the  lone 
spaces  lay  around  me,  and  tlie  gaunt  pine- 
tree  stretched  its  arms  athwart  the  icy  sky,  I 
have  felt  companionship  and  friendship  for 
the  very  dogs  that  drew  my  load;  but  for 
this  band  of  civilizers,  for  these  brutal 
pioneers  of  Anglo-American  freedom,  in  their 
many  stages  between  unblackened  boots  and 
diamond  breast-pins,  I  liave  felt  nothing  but 
loathing  and  disgust. 

It  was  late  in  the  month  of  September, 
1872,  when,  after  a  summer  of  travel  in 
13 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

Canada  and  the  United  States,  I  drew  near 
the  banks  of  the  Red  lliver  of  the  North. 
Two  years  had  worked  many  changes  in  scene 
and  society ;  a  railroad  had  reached  the  river ; 
a  "  city  "  stood  on  the  spot  where,  during  a 
former  visit,  a  midnight  storm  had  burst  upon 
me  in  the  then  untenanted  prairie.  Three 
steamboats  rolled  the  muddy  tide  of  the 
winding  river  before  their  blulf,  ill-shapen 
bows.  Gambling-houses  and  drinking-sa- 
loons,  made  of  boards  and  brown  paper, 
crowded  the  black,  mud-soaked  streets.  A 
stage-coach  ran  north  to  Fort  Garry  two 
hundred  and  fifty  miles,  and  along  the  track 
rowdyism  was  rampant.  Horse-stealing  was 
prevalent,  and  in  the  "city"  just  alluded  to 
two  murderers  walked  quietly  at  large.  In 
tine,  the  land  which  borders  the  Red  River, 
Minnesota,  and  Dakota,  had  been  thoroughly 
civilized. 

But  civilization  had  worked  its  way  even 
deeper  into  the  Northwest.  The  place  for- 
merly known  as  Fort  Garry  had  civilized  into 
the  shorter  denomination  of  "  Garry ; "  the 
prairie  around  the  Fort  had  corner  lots  which 
sold  for  more  hundreds  of  dollars  than  they 
possessed  frontage-feet;  and  society  was  di- 
vided in  opinion  as  to  whether  the  sale  which 
called  forth  these  prices  was  a  "  bogus  "  one 
or  not. 

Representative  institutions  had  been  estab- 


THE   WILD  XOT^TIT   LAND. 

lished  in  the  new  province  of  Manitoba,  and 
an  election  for  members  of  Parliament  had 
just  been  concluded.  Of  this  triumph  of 
modern  liberty  over  primeval  savagery,  it  is 
sufficient  to  say,  that  the  great  princij)le  of 
freedom  of  election  had  been  fully  vindicated 
by  a  large  body  of  upright  citizens,  who,  in 
the  freest  and  most  independent  manner,  had 
forcibly  possessed  themselves  of  the  poll- 
books,  and  then  fired  a  volley  from  revolvers, 
or,  in  the  language  of  the  land,  "emptied 
their  shooting-irons "  into  another  body  of 
equally  upright  citizens,  who  had  the  temer- 
ity to  differ  with  them  as  to  the  choice  of  a 
political  representative. 

It  was  gently  rumored  that  some  person  or 
persons  were  to  be  arrested  for  this  outburst 
of  constitutional  patriotism,  but  any  proceed- 
ing so  calculated  to  repress  the  individual  in- 
dependence of  the  citizen  Avould  have  been 
utterly  subversive  of  all  representative  in- 
stitutions. 

Civilization  had  also  developed  itself  in 
other  ways.  Several  national  societies  had 
been  founded,  and  were  doing  prosijerously. 
There  was  a  St.  George's  Society  and  a  St. 
Andrew's  Society,  and,  I  think,  also  a  St. 
Patrick's  Society.  Indeed  the  memory  of 
these  saints  appears  to  be  held  in  consider- 
able reputation  in  the  New  World.  Accord- 
ing to  the  prospectus  and  programme  of  these 
14 


THE   WILD  NOKTII   LAND. 

societies,  cliarity  aijpears  to  be  the  vital  ])i'in- 
cii)le  of  each  association:  sick  Scotchiucn, 
emigrating  Eiiglisli,  and  indigent  Irish,  were 
all  requested  to  come  forward  and  claim  relief 
at  the  hands  of  the  wealthier  sous  of  St.  An- 
drew, St.  George,  and  St.  Patrick.  Charity, 
which  is  said  to  begin  at  home,  and  which, 
alas!  too  frequently  ends  there  also,  having 
thus  had  its  commencement  in  the  home 
circle,  seemed  determined  to  observe  all  home- 
like institutions;  and  the  annual  dinner  was 
of  necessity  a  very  important  item  in  the 
transactions  of  each  society.  Indeed  it  would 
be  difficult  to  find  a  place  Avhere,  in  the 
present  day,  one  could  witness  "fichting  for 
Chairlie,"  "Scots  wha  haeing,"  "Manning 
for  a'  that,"  and  those  other  peculiar  customs 
of  the  Celtic  race,  carried  out  wdth  better 
effect  than  in  the  meeting  which  annually 
gathers  to  do  justice  to  the  memory  of  the 
Apostle  of  the  Picts  in  the  New  World. 

Amidst  all  these  changes  of  scene  and  so- 
ciety there  was  one  thing  still  unchanged  on 
the  confines  of  the  Red  Eiver.  Close  to  the 
stream,  at  the  place  known  as  the  Point  of 
Frogs,  an  old  friend  met  me  with  many  tokens 
of  recognition.  A  tried  companion  Avas  he 
through  many  long  days  of  wintry  travel. 
There,  as  fresh  and  hearty  as  when  I  had 
parted  from  him  two  years  before,  stood  Cerf- 
vola,  the  Esquimau  dog  who  had  led  my 
15 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

train  from  Cumberland,  on  tlie  Lower  Sas- 
katchewan, across  t.lie  ice  of  the  great  Lakes. 
Of  the  four  dogs  lie  alone  remained.  Two 
years  is  a  long  time  in  the  life  of  any  dog, 
but  still  a  longer  period  in  that  of  a  hauling- 
dog;  and  Cerf-vola's  comrades  of  that  date, 
Muskeymote,  Cariboo,  and  Tigre,  had  gone 
the  way  of  all  earthly  things. 

To  become  the  owner  of  this  old  friend 
again  and  of  his  new  companions  Spanker 
and  Fony,  was  a  work  of  necessity ;  and  I 
quitted  the  Point  of  Frogs  by  the  steamboat 
"  Selkirk "  with  three  hauling-dogs  in  my 
possession.  Strong  and  stout  as  of  yore; 
clean-limbed,  long-woolled,  deep-chested ; 
with  ears  pointed  forward  and  tail  close 
curled  over  his  broad  back,  Cerf-vola  still 
stood  the  picture  of  an  Esquimau. 

Of  the  other  two  dogs,  Fony  was  a  half- 
breed,  and  Spanker,  sharp,  keen,  and  rest- 
less, was  like  his  leader,  a  pure  Husky ;  but, 
unlike  the  older  dog,  his  nature  was  wild 
and  fierce :  some  malignant  guardian  of  his 
youth  had  despoiled  him  of  the  greater  part 
of  his  tail,  and  by  doing  so  had  not  a  little 
detracted  from  his  personal  appearance. 

As  these  three  animals  will  be  my  constant 
companions  during  many  months,  through 
many  long  leagues  of  ice  and  snow,  I  have 
here  sketched  their  outward  semblance  with 
some  care.  Civilization  and  a  steamboat  ap- 
16 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

peared  to  agree  hut  i)oorly  with  my  new 
friends.  Spanker,  failing  in  making  his  teeth 
emancipate  his  own  neck,  turned  all  his  at- 
tention toward  freeing  his  companion,  and 
after  a  deal  of  toil  he  succeeded  in  gnawing 
Pony  loose.  This  notable  instance  of  canine 
abnegation  (in  which  supporters  of  the  Dar- 
winian theory  will  easily  recognize  the  con- 
necting link  between  the  Algerme  captives 
assisting  each  other  to  freedom,  etc.,  after 
the  manner  of  the  Middle  Ages),  resulted  in 
the  absconding  of  the  dog  Pony,  who  took 
advantage  of  the  momentary  grounding  of 
the  steamer  to  jump  on  shore  and  disappear 
into  the  neighboring  forest. 

It  was  a  wild,  tempestuous  night;  the 
storm  swept  the  waters  of  the  Red  River 
until  at  length  the  steamboat  was  forced  to 
seek  her  moorings  against  the  tree-lined 
shore.  Here  was  a  chance  of  recovering  the 
lost  dog.  Unfortunately  the  boat  lay  on 
the  Dakota  side,  and  the  dog  was  at  large 
somewhere  on  the  Minnesota  shore,  while 
between  the  stormy  water  heaved  in  inky 
darkness.  How  was  the  capture  to  be 
effected? 

As  I  stood  on  the  lower  deck  of  the  steam- 
boat, pondering  how  to  cross  the  dark  river, 
a  man  paddled  a  small  skiff  close  to  the  boat's 
side.  "  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  put  me 
across  the  river?  "  I  asked. 
2  17 


THE   AVTI.D   XORTIT    LAND. 

"I've  no  darned  time  to  lose  a  night  like 
this,"  lie  answered,  "but  if  you  want  to  cross 
jump  in."  The  lantern  which  lie  carried 
showed  tlie  skilf  to  be  half-filled  with  Avater, 
but  the  chance  was  too  good  to  be  lost.  I 
sprang  in,  and  we  shot  away  over  the  rough 
river.  Kneeling  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  I 
held  the  lantern  aloft,  while  my  gruff  com- 
rade paddled  hard.  At  last  we  touched  the 
shore ;  clambering  up  the  wet,  slippery  bank, 
I  held  the  light  amidst  the  forest ;  there,  not 
twenty  paces  distant,  stood  Pony. 

"  Pony,  poor  fellow,  good  dog,  come.  Pony, 
cess,  cess,  poor  old  boy."  Alas!  all  the  al- 
luring doggisms  by  which  we  usually  attract 
the  animal  were  noAv  utterly  useless,  and  the 
more  I  cried  "Here,  here,"  the  more  the 
wretch  went  there,  there.  Meanwhile  my 
boating  friend  grew  impatient;  I  could  hear 
him  above  the  storm  shouting  and  cursing  at 
me  with  great  volubility  :  so  I  made  my  way 
back  to  the  shore,  gave  him  his  lantern,  and 
went  back  into  the  forest,  while  he  shot  out 
into  the  darkness  of  the  river. 

Every  now  and  again  I  heard  the  brute 
Pony  close  to  me  in  the  brushwood.  Por 
some  time  I  wandered  on ;  suddenly  a  light 
glimmered  through  the  wet  trees:  a})p]'oach- 
ing  the  liglit  I  found  it  to  issue  from  an  In- 
dian wigwam,  and  at  my  summons  two  or 
three  half-clad  creatures  came  out.  There 
18 


THE   Wir.D   NOKTII   LAND. 

was  a  dog  lost  in  the  woods,  would  tliey  get 
lights  and  help  me  to  catch  hiui?  a  dollar 
wouhl  be  the  reward.  Tlie  dollar  threw  a 
new  light  upon  the  matter.  lUiruing  l)rands 
were  instantly  brought  forth  from  the  wig- 
wam fire,  but  with  little  result ;  the  vagabond 
Pony,  now  utterly  scared  out  of  all  semblance 
of  dog  wit,  sought  safety  in  the  deepest  re- 
cesses of  the  forest,  from  whence  he  poured 
forth  howls  into  the  night.  I  returned  to 
the  river,  and  with  the  aid  of  my  wigwam 
friends  regained  the  steamboat.  Half  an 
hour  later  the  man  on  watch  saw  a  dark 
object  swimming  around  the  boat ;  it  was  the 
lost  dog.  Cerf-vola,  tied  in  the  rain  as  a 
lure,  had  continued  to  howl  without  inter- 
mission, and  the  vagrant  Pony  had  evidently 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  were  worse 
])laces  on  a  wet  autumnal  night  than  the 
warm  deck  of  the  steamboat  "  Selkirk." 

In  the  earliest  days  of  October  all  phases 
of  civilization  were  passed  with  little  regret ; 
and  at  the  Rat  Creek,  near  the  southern 
shore  of  Lake  Manitoba,  I  bid  good-bye  to 
society.  The  party  was  a  small  one — a 
member  of  the  Imperial  Legislature,  Avell 
known  in  Ireland,  now  en  route  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  great  solitudes  ere  Avinter  had 
closed  in,  his  servant,  mine  own,  five  horses, 
and  two  carts. 


19 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

The  Wilderness — A  Suuset  Scene — A  White  Savage 
— Cerf-vola  the  Untiring — Doggerel  for  a  Dog 
— The  Hill  of  the  Wolverine — The  Indian  Para- 
dise— I  Plan  a  Surprise — Biscuits  and  Water. 

It  was  the  4th  of  October,  bright  with  the 
warmth  of  the  fading  summer — that  quiet 
glow  which  lingers  over  the  face  of  nature, 
like  the  hectic  flush  upon  a  dying  beauty,  ere 
the  wintry  storms  come  to  kill. 

Small  and  insignificant,  the  Musk-Rat 
Creek  flows  on  toward  Lake  Manitoba  amidst 
bordering  thickets  of  oak  and  elm  trees  On 
each  side,  a  prairie  just  beginning  to  yellow 
under  the  breath  of  the  cold  night  wind;  be- 
hind, towards  the  east,  a  few  far-scattered 
log-houses  smoke,  and  a  trace  of  husbandry ; 
the  advanced  works  of  that  army  whose  rear- 
guard reaches  to  the  Vistula ;  before,  toward 
the  west,  the  sun  going  down  over  the  great 
silent  wilderness.  How  difficult  to  realize 
it!  HoAV  feeble  are  our  minds  to  gauge  its 
depths ! 

He  who  rides  for  months  through  the  vast 

solitudes  sees  during  the  hours  of  his  daily 

travel   an    unbroken   panorama  of   distance. 

The  seasons  come  and  go;  grass  grows  and 

30 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

flowers  die ;  the  lire  leaps  with  tiger  bounds 
along  the  earth ;  the  snow  lies  still  and  quiet 
over  hill  and  lake ;  the  rivers  rise  and  fall, 
but  the  rigid  features  of  the  wilderness  rest 
unchanged.  Lonely,  silent,  and  impassive; 
heedless  of  man,  season,  or  time,  the  weight 
of  the  Infinite  seems  to  brood  over  it.  Once 
only  in  the  hours  of  day  and  night  a  moment 
comes  when  this  impassive  veil  is  drawn  from 
its  features,  and  the  eye  of  the  wanderer 
catches  a  glimpse  of  the  sunken  soul  of  the 
wilderness ;  it  is  the  moment  which  follows 
the  sunset;  then  a  deeper  stillness  steals  over 
the  earth,  colors  of  wondrous  hue  rise  and 
spread  along  the  western  horizon.  In  a  deep 
sea  of  emerald  and  orange  of  fifty  shades, 
mingled  and  interwoven  together,  rose-colored 
isles  float  anchored  to  great  golden  threads ; 
while,  far  away,  seemingly  beyond  and  above 
all,  one  broad  flash  of  crimson  light,  the 
parting  sun's  last  gift,  reddens  upward  to  the 
zenith.  And  then,  when  every  moment 
brings  a  change,  and  the  night  gathers  closer 
to  the  earth,  and  some  waveless,  nameless 
lake  glimmers  in  uncertain  shore-line  and  in 
shadow  of  inverted  hilltop ;  when  a  light  that 
seems  born  of  another  world  (so  weirdly  dis- 
tant is  it  from  ours)  lingers  along  the  western 
sky,  then  hanging  like  a  lani})  over  the  tomb 
of  the  sun,  the  Evening  Star  gleams  out  upon 
the  darkening  wilderness. 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

It  may  be  only  a  fancy,  a  conceit  bred  from 
loneliness  and  long  wandering,  but  at  such 
times  the  great  solitude  has  seemed  to  me  to 
open  its  soul,  and  that  in  its  depths  I  read 
its  secrets. 

Ten  days  dawned  and  died ;  the  Mauvais 
Bois,  the  Sand  Ridges,  western  shore  of  au 
older  world's  immense  lake,  the  Pine  Creek, 
the  far-stretching  hills  of  the  Little  Sas- 
katchewan rose,  drew  near,  and  faded  behind 
us.  A  wild,  cold  storm  swept  down  from 
the  north,  and,  raging  a  day  and  a  night, 
tore  the  yellow  leaves  from  the  poplar  thick- 
ets, and  scared  the  wild  fowl  far  southward 
to  a  warmer  home. 

Late  on  the  10th  of  October  we  reached 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's  post  of  Beaver 
Creek,  the  western  limit  to  the  travels  of  my 
friend.  Here,  after  a  stay  of  three  days  and 
a  feast  of  roasted  beaver,  we  parted ;  he  to 
return  to  Killarney,  St.  Stephen's,  and  De- 
nominational Education — a  new  name  for  the 
old  feud  between  those  great  patriot  armies, 
the  Ins  and  the  Outs ;  I  to  seek  the  lonely 
lands  where,  far  beyond  the  distant  Sas- 
katchewan, the  great  L^nchagah,  j)arent  of 
a  still  mightier  stream,  rolls  through  remote 
lakes  and  whispering  pines  its  waters  to  the 
Polar  Seas. 

With  one  man,  three  horses,  and  three 
dogs,  and  all  those  requisites  of  food,  arms, 
83 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

and  raiment  witli  -which  a  fonuer  journey 
liad  familiarized  me,  I  started  on  the  14tli  of 
(October  bound  for  the  North-west.  I  was 
virtually  alone;  my  companion  was  a  half- 
breed  taken  at  chance  from  the  wigwam  at 
the  scene  of  the  dog  Pony's  midnight  esca- 
pade on  the  Red  River.  Chance  had  on  this 
occasion  proved  a  failure,  and  the  man  had 
already  shown  many  symptoms  of  worthless- 
ness.  He  had  served  as  a  soldier  in  an 
American  corps  raised  by  a  certain  Hatch,  to 
hold  in  check  the  Sioux  after  the  massacre  of 
Minnesota  in  1862.  A  raid  made  by  nine 
troopers  of  this  corps,  against  an  Indian  tent 
occupied  by  some  dozen  women  and  children, 
appears  to  have  been  the  most  noteworthy 
event  in  the  history  of  Hatch's  Battalion. 
Having  surrounded  the  wigwam  in  the  night, 
these  cowards  shot  the  miserable  inmates, 
then  scalping  and  mutilating  their  bodies 
they  returned  to  their  comrades,  bearing  the 
gory  scalp-locks  as  trophies  of  their  prowess. 

Hatch  is  said  to  have  at  once  forwarded  to 
Washington  a  despatch,  announcing  "a  de- 
cisive victory  over  the  Sioux  by  the  troops 
under  his  command."  But  a  darker  sequel 
to  the  tale  must  remain  in  shadow,  for,  if  the 
story  told  to  a  Breton  missionary  rests  on  a 
base  of  truth,  the  history  of  human  guilt  may 
;be  searched  in  vain  for  a  parallel  of  atrocity. 

J  had  other  companions  besides  this  ci- 
33 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND 

devant  trooper,  of  a  far  more  congenial  na- 
ture, to  share  ni}^  spare  time  with.  A  good 
dog  is  so  much  a  nobler  beast  than  an  indif- 
ferent man  that  one  sometimes  gladly  ex- 
changes the  society  of  one  for  that  of  the 
other. 

A  great  French  Avriter  has  told  us  that  ani- 
mals were  put  on  earth  to  show  us  the  evil 
effects  of  passions  run  riot  and  unchecked. 
But  it  seems  to  me  that  the  reverse  woukl  be 
closer  to  the  truth.  The  humanity  which 
Napoleon  deemed  a  dog  taught  to  man  on 
Bassano's  battle-field  is  not  the  only  virtue 
Ave  can  learn  from  that  lower  world  which  is 
bound  to  us  by  such  close  ties,  and  yet  lies 
so  strangely  apart  from  us  Be  that  as  it 
may,  a  man  can  seldom  feel  alone  if  he  has  a 
dog  to  share  his  supper,  to  stretch  near  him 
under  the  starlight,  to  answer  him  with  tail 
Avag,  or  glance  of  eye,  or  prick  of  ear 

Day  after  day  Cerf-vola  and  his  comrades 
trotted  on  in  all  the  freedom  which  summer 
and  autumn  give  to  the  great  dog  family  in 
the  north.  Now  chasing  a  badger,  who  in- 
variably popped  into  his  burrow  in  time  to 
save  his  skin ;  now  sending  a  pack  of  prairie 
grouse  flying  from  the  long  grass;  now  wad- 
ing breast-deep  into  a  lake  where  a  few  wild 
ducks  still  lingered,  loath  to  quit  their  sum- 
mer nesting-haunts 

Of  all  the  dogs  I  have  known,  Cerf-voU 
24 


THE    WILD    NORTH    LAND. 

possessed  the  largest  share  of  tact.  He 
never  fought  a  pitched  battle,  yet  no  dog 
dared  dispute  his  supremacy.  Other  dogs 
had  to  maintain  their  leadership  by  many  a 
deadly  conflict,  but  he  quietly  assumed  it, 
and  invariably  his  assumption  was  left  un- 
challenged; nay,  even  upon  his  arrival  at 
some  Hudson  Bay  fort,  some  place  wherein 
he  had  never  before  set  foot,  he  was  wont  to 
instantly  appoint  himself  director-general  of 
all  the  Company's  dogs,  whose  days  from 
earliest  puppyhood  had  been  passed  within 
the  palisades.  I  have  often  watched  him  at 
his  work,  and  marvelled  by  what  mysterious 
power  he  held  his  sway.  I  have  seen  two  or 
three  large  dogs  flee  before  a  couple  of  bounds 
merely  made  by  him  in  their  direction,  while 
a  certain  will-some-one-hold-me-back?  kind 
of  look  pervaded  his  face,  as  though  he  was 
only  prevented  from  rending  his  enemy  into 
small  pieces  by  the  restraining  influence 
which  the  surface  of  the  ground  exercised 
upon  his  legs. 

His  great  weight  no  doubt  carried  respect 
with  it.  At  the  lazy  time  of  the  year  he 
weighed  nearly  one  hundred  pounds,  and  his 
size  was  in  no  way  diminished  by  the  im- 
mense coat  of  liair  and  fine  fur  which  en- 
veloped him.  Had  Sir  IJoyle  Roche  known 
this  dog  he  would  not  liave  given  to  a  biid 
alone  the  faculty  of  being  iii  two  places  at 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND 

once,  for  lu)  nioital  eye  could  measure  the 
interval  between  Cerf-vola's  demolishnient  of 
two  pieces  of  dog-meat,  or  pemmican.  flung 
in  different  directions  at  the  same  moment. 

Thus  we  journeyed  on.  Sometimes  when 
the  sheen  of  a  lake  suggested  the  evening 
camp,  while  yet  the  sun  was  above  the  hori- 
zon, my  three  friends  Avould  accompany  me 
on  a  ramble  through  the  thicket-lined  hills 
At  such  times,  had  any  Indian  watched  from 
sedgy  shore  or  bordering  willow  copse  the 
solitary  wanderer  who,  with  dogs  follow- 
ing close,  treaded  the  lonely  lake  shore,  he 
would  probably  have  carried  to  his  brethren 
a  strange  story  of  the  "white  man's  medi- 
cine." He  would  have  averred  that  he  had 
heard  a  white  man  talking  to  a  big,  busliy- 
tailed  dog,  somewhere  amidst  the  Touchwood 
Hills,  and  singing  to  him  a  "  great  medicine 
song"  when  the  sun  went  down. 

And  if  now  we  reproduce  for  the  reader 
the  medicine  song  which  tlie  white  man 
strung  together  for  his  bushy-tailed  dog,  we 
may  perhaps  forestall  some  critic's  verdict 
by  prefixing  to  it  the  singularly  appropriate 
title  of 

DOGGEREL. 

And  so,  old   friend,  we  arc  nit-t   aifjiin,  comiianion.s 

still  to  Ix', 
Across  the  waves  of  drifted  snow,  across  the  prairie 

seu. 

36 


TlfE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

•Again  we'll  tread  the  sik'iil  lake,  the  frozen  swamp, 

the  fen. 
Beneath  the  snowcrown'd  sombre  pine  we'll  build 

our  cam])  again : 
And  long  before  the  iey  dawn,  while  hush'd  all  na- 
ture lies, 
And  weird  and  wan  the  white  lights  Hash  across  the 

northern  skies; 
Thy  place,  as  in  past  daysthou'lt  take,  the  leader  of 

the  train, 
To  steer  until  the  stars  die  out  above  the  dusky  plain  ; 
Then  on,  thro'  space  by  wood  and   hill,  until   the 

wintry  day 
In  pale  gleams  o'er  the  snow-capped  ridge  has  worn 

itself  away. 
And  twilight  bids  us  seek  the  brake,  where  midst 

the  pines  once  more 
The  tire  will  gleam  l)efore  us,  the  stars  will  glimmer 

o'er. 
There  stretch'd  upon  the  snow-drift,  bef(jre  the  pine 

log's  glare, 
Thy  master's  couch  and  supper  with  welcome  thou 

wilt  share. 
To  rest,  unless  .some  prowling  wolf  .should  keep  thee 

watchful  still. 
While  lonely  tlirough  the  midnight  sounds  his  wail 

upon  the  hill. 

And  wIkui  the  storm  raves  around,  and  thick  and 

blinding  snow 
Comes  whirling  in  wild  eddies  around,  above,  below; 
Still  all  immoved  thou 'It  keep  thy  pace  as  manfully 

as  when 
Thy  matchless  mettle  tirst   I  tried  in   lone  I'uscpiia's 

glen. 
Thus  day  by  day  we'll  pierce  the  wilds  where  rolls 

the  Arctic  stream, 

S7 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAXD. 

Where  Athabasca's  silent  lakes,  thi-ough  whispering 

pinetrees  gleam. 
Until,  where  far  Unchagah's  flood  by  giant  cliffs  is 

crown'd, 
Thy  bells  will  feed  the  echoes,  long  hungering  for  a 

sound. 
Old  dog,  they  .say  thou  hast  no  life  beyond  this  earth 

of  ours, 
That  toil  and  truth  give  thee  no  place  amidst  Ely- 

sian  bowers. 
Ah  well,  e'en  so,  I  look  for  thee  when  all  our  dan- 
ger's past, 
That  on  some  liearth-rug,  far  at  home,  thou 'It  rest 

thy  limbs  at  last. 

A  long  distance  of  rolling  plain,  of  hills 
fringed  with  thickets,  of  treeless  waste,  and 
lakes  spreading  into  unseen  declivities, 
stretches  out  betAveen  the  Qu'Appelle  and 
Saskatchewan  rivers.  Roamed  over  by  but 
few  bands  of  Indians,  and  almost  bereft  of 
the  larger  kind  of  game,  whose  bleached 
bones  cover  it  thickly,  this  expanse  lies  in 
unbroken  solitude  for  more  than  three  hun- 
dred miles.  Through  it  the  great  trail  to  the 
north  lays  its  long,  winding  course ;  but  no 
other  trace  of  man  is  to  be  found ;  and  over 
lake  and  thicket,  hill  and  waste,  broods  the 
loneliness  of  the  untenanted. 

Once  it  was  a  famous  field  of  Indian  fight, 

in  the  old  days  when  Crees  and  Assineboinc 

strove  for  mastery.     Now  it  has  almost  lost 

the  tradition  of  battle,  but  now  and  again  a 

28 


THE   WILD  NOirni   LAND. 

hill-top  or  a  rivoi-couvse,  whos(>.  Fiencli  or 
English  luiiiie  faintly  echoes  the  Indian  mean- 
ing, tells  to  the  traveller  avIio  eares  to  look 
below  the  surface  some  story  oi  tight  in  by- 
gone times. 

The  hill  of  the  Wolverine  and  the  lonely 
Spathanaw  Watchi  have  witnessed  many  a 
deed  of  Indian  daring  and  Indian  perfidy  in 
days  not  long  passed  away,  but  these  deeds 
are  now  forgotten,  for  the  trader  as  he  un- 
yokes his  horses  at  their  base,  and  kindles 
his  evening  fire,  little  recks  of  such  things, 
and  hails  the  hill-top  only  as  a  landmark  on 
his  solitary  road. 

Alone  in  a  vast  waste  the  Spathanaw 
Watchi  lifts  his  head,  thickets  and  lakes  are 
at  his  base,  a  lonely  grave  at  top,  around 
four  hundred  miles  of  horizon  ;  a  view  so 
vast  that  endless  s})ace  seems  for  once  to  find 
embodiment,  and  at  a  single  glance  the  eye 
is  satiated  with  immensity.  There  is  no 
mountain  range  to  come  up  across  the  sky- 
line, no  river  to  lay  its  glistening  folds  along 
the  middle  distance,  no  dark  forest  to  give 
shade  to  foreground  or  to  fringe  perspective, 
no  speck  of  life,  no  track  of  man,  nothing 
but  the  wilderness.  Reduced  thus  to  its 
own  nakedness,  space  stands  forth  with  al- 
most terrible  grandeur.  One  is  suddenly 
brought  face  to  face  with  that  enigma  which 
we  try  to  comprehend  by  giving  to  it  the 
29 


THE  ^yILn  xoirni  land. 

names  of  endless,  interminable,  measureless; 
that  (lark  inanity  Avhich  broods  ujjon  a  waste 
of  moorland  at  dusk,  and  in  wliich  faney  see 
the  spectral  and  the  shadowy. 

Yet  in  this  view  from  the  Spathanaw  there 
is  nothing  dimly  seen ;  the  eye  travels  to  the 
farthest  distance  Avithout  one  effort  of  vision, 
and,  reaching  there,  rests  untired  by  its  long 
gaze.  As  the  traveller  looks  at  this  wonder- 
ful view  he  stands  by  the  grave  of  an  Indian, 
and  he  sees  around  him  for  four  hundred 
miles  the  Indian  Paradise.  It  was  from 
scenes  such  as  this,  when  the  spring  had  cov- 
ered them  with  greensward,  and  the  wild 
herds  darkened  them  by  their  myriads,  that 
the  shadowy  sense  of  a  life  beyond  the  tomb 
took  shape  and  form  in  the  Red  man's  mind. 

It  was  the  25th  of  October  when  I  once 
more  drew  near  to  the  South  Saskatchewan. 

Amidst  its  high  wooded  banks  the  broad 
river  rippled  brightly  along,  as  yet  showing 
no  trace  of  that  winter  now  so  close  at  hand. 
Two  years  before,  all  but  a  few  days,  I  had 
reached  this  same  river,  then  shored  by  dense 
masses  of  ice ;  and  now,  as  I  looked  from  the 
southern  shore,  the  eye  had  no  little  difficulty 
in  tracing  through  the  lingering  foliage  of  the 
summer  the  former  point  of  passage,  where 
on  the  cold  November  morning  my  favourite 
horse  had  gone  down  beneath  the  ice-locked 
river. 

30 


THE  WILD  Noirm  land.* 

Crossing  to  the  soutlioin  slioi'e  I  tuniod 
eastward  tlirougli  a  ricli  uiululating  land,  and 
I'idiiig  liard  for  one  day  reached  tlie  little 
mission  station  of  Prjnee  Albert,  midway  be- 
tween the  Red  lliver  and  the  liocky  Moun- 
tains 

Those  who  have  followed  me  through 
former  wanderings  may  remember  a  spot 
where  two  large  rivers  unite  after  man}^  hun- 
dred miles  of  prairie  wandering,  and  form  one 
majestic  current  on  the  edge  of  the  Great 
Northern  Forest.  To  this  spot,  known  as 
the  "Grand  Forks  of  the  Saskatchewan,"  I 
was  now  journeying,  for  there,  while  the 
autumn  was  yet  younger,  two  friends  had 
preceded  me  to  build  at  the  point  of  conflu- 
ence a  hut  for  oar  residence  during  the  early 
winter. 

The  evening  of  the  28th  of  October  found 
me  pushing  hastily  through  a  broad  belt  of 
firs  and  pines  which  crosses  the  tongue  of 
land  between  the  rivers  some  ten  miles  from 
their  junction  ;  beyond  this  belt  of  trees  the 
country  opened  out,  but,  as  it  finally  nar- 
rowed to  the  point  of  confluence,  the  dark 
pine-clumps,  outliers  of  the  dense  Northern 
Forest,  again  rose  into  view.  With  these 
features  a  previous  visit  had  made  me  ac- 
quainted; but  the  night  had  now  closed  in 
ere  yet  the  fir  forest  had  been  passed,  and 
the  rain,  which  all  day  had  been  ceaseless, 
31 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND 

settled  down  with  darkness  into  a  still  heavier 
toi'rent.  As  we  emerged  from  the  pines  my 
baggage-cart  suddenly  Ijroke  down,  and  there 
only  remained  the  alternative  of  camping  by 
the  scene  of  the  disaster,  or  ])ushing  on  for 
the  river  junction  on  foot. 

Unfortunately  the  prospect  of  unexpectedly 
walking  in  upon  my  friends,  housed  in  the 
depths  of  the  wilderness,  amidst  the  wild 
rain-storm  of  the  night,  proved  too  strong  a 
temptation ;  and  having  secured  the  cart  as 
best  we  could  against  weather  and  wolves,  we 
set  out  into  the  darkness.  For  more  than  an 
hour  we  walked  hard  through  undulating 
ground  intermixed  with  swamps  and  beaver 
dams,  until  at  length  the  land  began  to  de- 
cline perceptibly. 

Descending  thus  for  nearly  a  mile  we  came 
suddenly  upon  a  large,  quick-running  river, 
whose  waters  chafed  with  sullen  noise  against 
boulder-lined  shores,  and  his.sed  under  the 
wild  beating  of  the  rains.  With  cautious 
steps  we  groped  our  way  to  the  edge  and  cast 
a  dry  branch  into  the  flood ;  it  floated  towards 
the  left;  the  river,  then,  must  be  the  South 
Saskatchewan.  Was  the  junction  of  this 
river  with  the  northern  branch  yet  distant? 
or  was  it  close  at  hand?  for  if  it  was  near, 
then  my  home  was  near  too- 

Making  our  way  along  the  shore  we  held 
on  for  some  time,  until  suddenly  there  rose 
32 


TTTE  WILD   NOHTII    LAND. 

before  us  a  steop  bank,  at  the  base  of  which 
the  current  ran  in  whirling  eddies.  To  climb 
up  a  high  bank  on  our  left,  and  tlius  flank 
this  obstacle,  next  became  our  toil ;  soon  we 
found  ourselves  in  a  dense  wood  where  innu- 
merable fallen  trees  lay  in  endless  confusion. 
For  another  hour  we  groped  our  way  through 
this  labyrinth  in  a  vain  attempt  to  reach  the 
upper  level,  until  at  last,  exhausted  by  hours 
of  useless  toil,  wet,  hungry,  and  bruised,  I 
gave  the  reluctant  word  to  camp. 

To  camp,  what  a  mockery  it  seemed  with- 
out blankets  or  covering  save  our  rain-soaked 
clothes,  without  food  save  a  few  biscuits. 
The  cold  rain  poured  down  through  leafless 
aspens,  and  shelter  there  was  none.  It  was 
no  easy  matter  to  find  a  dry  match,  but  at 
length  a  fire  was  made,  and  from  the  sur- 
rounding wood  we  dragged  dead  trees  to  feed 
the  flames.  There  is  no  necessity  to  dwell 
upon  the  miserable  hours  which  ensued !  All 
night  long  the  rain  hissed  down,  and  the  fire 
was  powerless  against  its  drencliing  torrents. 
Towards  morning  we  sunk  into  a  deep  sleep, 
lying  stretched  upon  the  soaking  ground. 

At  last  a  streak  of  dawn  broke  over  the 
high  eastern  shore,  the  light  struggled  for 
mastery  with  the  surrounding  darkness  and 
finally  prevailed,  and  descending  to  the  river 
showed  the  broad  current  sweeping  on  to  the 
north-east.  Quitting  without  regret  our 
3  33 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

cheerless  bivouac,  we  climbed  with  stiff  limbs 
the  high  overhanging  bank,  and  gained  the 
upper  level.  Far  away  the  river  still  held 
its  course  to  the  north-east,  deep  sunken  300 
feet  below  the  prairie  level:  we  were  still 
distant  from  the  Forks. 

Retracing  our  steps  through  miles  of  fallen 
timber  Ave  reached  the  cart,  but  the  morning 
had  worn  on  to  midday  before  our  long- 
wished-for  breakfast  smoked  in  the  kettle. 
Three  hours  later  on,  during  an  evening 
which  had  cleared  sufficiently  to  allow  the 
sun  to  glint  through  cloud  rifts  on  pine  forest 
and  prairie,  I  reached  the  lofty  ridge  which 
overlooks  the  Forks  of  the  Saskatcliewan. 


34 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Forks  of  the  Saskatchewan — A  Perverse  Parallel 
—Diplomatic  Bungling — Its  Results. 

Two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  water 
level,  the  narrow  tongue  of  laud  rises  over 
the  junction  of  the  two  Saskatchewan  rivers. 
Bare  and  level  at  top,  its  scarped  front  de- 
scends like  a  wall  to  the  rivers ;  but  land-slip 
and  the  wear  of  time  have  carried  down  to  a 
lower  level  the  loose  sand  and  earth  of  the 
plateau,  and  thickly  clustering  along  the 
northern  face,  pines,  birch,  and  poplar  shroud 
the  steep  descent.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine 
a  wilder  scene  than  that  which  lay  beneath 
this  projecting  point. 

From  north-west  and  from  south-west  two 
broad  rivers  roll  their  waters  into  one  com- 
mon channel,  two  rivers  deep  furrowed  below 
the  prairie  level,  curving  in  great  bends 
through  tree-fringed  valleys.  One  river  has 
travelled  through  eight  hundred  miles  of  rich 
rolling  landscape;  the  other  has  rnn  its 
course  of  nine  hundred  through  waste  and 
arid  solitudes;  both  have  had  their  sources 
in  mountain  summits  where  the  avalanche 
thundered  forth  to  solitude  the  tidings  of 
35 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

their  birth.  And  here  at  this  point,  like  tAvo 
lives,  which,  coming  from  a  distance,  are 
drawn  together  by  some  mysterious  sympa- 
thy, and  blended  into  one  are  henceforth  to 
know  only  the  final  separation,  these  rivers 
roll  their  currents  into  one  majestic  stream, 
which,  sinking  into  a  deep  gorge,  sweeps 
eastward  through  unbroken  pine  forest.  As 
yet  no  steamboat  furrows  the  deep  water ;  no 
whistle  breaks  the  sleeping  echoes  of  these 
grim  scarped  shores ;  the  winding  stream 
rests  in  voiceless  solitude,  and  the  summer 
sun  goes  down  beyond  silent  river  reaches, 
gleaming  upon  a  virgin  land. 

Standing  at  this  junction  of  the  two  Sas- 
katchewan rivers,  the  traveller  sees  to  the 
north  and  east  the  dark  ranks  of  the  great 
sub-Arctic  forest,  while  to  the  south  and 
west  begin  the  endless  prairies  of  the  middle 
continent.  It  is  not  a  bad  position  from 
whence  to  glance  at  the  vast  region  known  to 
us  as  British  North  America. 

When  the  fatal  error  at  Saratoga  had  made 
room  for  diplomatists  of  Old  and  New  Eng- 
land, and  removed  the  arbitrament  of  rebel- 
lion from  the  campaign  to  the  council,  those 
who  drew  on  the  part  of  Great  Britain  the 
boundary-lines  of  her  transatlantic  empire, 
bungled  even  more  conspicuously  in  the 
treaty-chamber  than  her  generals  had  failed 
in  the  field.  Geographical  knowledge  ap- 
36 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

pears  ever  to  have  been  deemed  superfluous 
to  those  whose  business  it  was  to  shape  the 
destinies  of  our  colonial  dominions,  and  if 
something  more  tangible  than  report  be  true, 
it  is  not  many  months  since  the  British  mem- 
bers at  a  celebrated  conference  stared  blankly 
at  each  other  when  the  free  navigation  of  a 
river  of  more  than  two  tJiousand  miles  in 
length  was  mooted  at  the  Council  Board. 
But  then,  Avhat  statesman  has  leisure  to  mas- 
ter such  trifles  as  the  existence  of  the  great 
river  Yukon,  amid  the  more  important  brain 
toil  of  framing  rabbit  laws,  defining  com- 
pound householders,  and  solving  other  equally 
momentous  questions  of  our  Imperial  and  Pa- 
rochial politics?  However  to  our  subject. 
When  in  1783  the  great  quarrel  between 
Britain  and  her  Colonies  was  finally  adjusted, 
the  northern  boundary  of  the  United  States 
was  to  follow  the  49th  parallel  of  latitude 
from  the  north-west  angle  of  the  Lake  of  the 
Woods  to  the  river  Mississippi,  and  thence 
down  that  river,  &c.,  &c. 

Nothing  could  possibly  have  been  more 
simple,  a  child  might  comprehend  it;  but  un- 
fortunately it  fell  out  in  course  of  time  that 
the  49tli  parallel  was  one  of  very  considera- 
ble latitude  indeed,  not  at  all  a  parallel  of 
diplomatic  respectability,  or  one  that  could 
be  depended  on,  for  neither  at  one  end  nor  the 
other  could  it  be  induced  to  approach  the 
37 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

north-west  angle  of  the  Lake  of  the  Woods 
or  the  river  Mississippi  Do  all  that  sex- 
tant, or  quadrant,  or  zenith  telescope  could, 
the  49th  parallel  would  not  come  to  terms. 

Doggedly  and  determinedly  it  kept  its  own 
course ;  and,  utterly  regardless  of  big-wig  or 
diplomatic  fogie,  it  formed  an  offensive  and 
defensive  alliance  Avith  the  Sun  and  the  Pole 
Star  (two  equally  obstinate  and  big-wig  dis- 
respectful bodies),  and  struck  out  for  itself 
an  independent  line. 

Beyond  the  Mississippi  there  lay  a  vast 
region,  a  region  where  now  millions  (soon  to 
be  tens  of  millions)  draw  from  prairie  and 
river  flat  the  long-sleeping  richness  of  the 
soil.  Then  it  Avas  a  great  wilderness,  over 
which  the  dusky  bison  and  his  wilder  master 
roamed,  in  that  fierce  freedom  which  civiliza- 
tion ends  forever. 

To  the  big-wigs  at  the  Council  Board  this 
region  was  a  myth — a  land  so  far  beyond  the 
confines  of  diplomatic  geography  that  its  very 
existence  was  questioned.  Not  so  to  the 
shrewd  solicitor,  admiral,  auctioneer,  general 
conveyancer,  and  Jack-of-all-trades  in  one, 
who  guided  the  foreign  policy  of  the  United 
States. 

Unencumbered  by  the  trappings  of  diplo- 
matic tradition,  he  saw,  vaguely  perhaps,  but 
still  with  prescient  knowledge,  the  empire 
which  it  was  possible  to  build  in  that  western 
38 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

wild ;  and  as  every  shifting  scene  in  the  out- 
side workl's  politics  called  iq)  some  new  occa- 
sion for  boundary  rearrangement,  or  treaty 
rectification,  he  grasped  eagerly  at  a  fresh 
foothold,  an  additional  scrap  of  territory,  in 
that  land  which  was  to  him  an  unborn  em- 
pire, to  us  a  half-begotten  wilderness.  Louis- 
iana, purchased  from  Napoleon  for  a  trifle, 
became  in  his  hands  a  region  larger  than 
European  Russia,  and  the  vast  water-shed  of 
the  Missouri,  passed  into  the  Empire  of  the 
United  States. 

Cut  off  from  the  INIississippi,  isolated  from 
the  Missouri,  the  unlucky  boundary  traversed 
an  arid  waste  until  it  terminated  at  the  Rocky 
Mountains. 

Long  before  a  citizen  of  the  United  States 
had  crossed  the  Missouri,  Canadian  explorers 
had  reached  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  pene- 
trated through  their  fastnesses  to  the  Pacific ; 
and  British  and  Canadian  fur  traders  had 
grown  old  in  their  forts  across  the  Continent 
before  Lewis  and  Clark,  the  pioneers  of 
American  exploration,  had  passed  the  Mis- 
souri. Discovered  by  a  British  sailor,  ex- 
plored by  British  subjects,  it  might  well  have 
been  supposed  that  the  great  region  along  the 
Pacific  slope,  known  to  us  as  Oregon,  be- 
longed indisputably  to  England  ;  but  at  some 
new  treaty  "rectification,"  the  old  story  was 
once  more  repeated,  and  the  unlucky  49th  par- 
39 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

allel  again  selected  to  carry  across  the  Moun- 
tains to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  the  same  record  of 
British  bungling  and  American  astuteness 
which  the  Atlantic  had  witnessed  sixty  years 
earlier  on  the  rugged  estuary  of  the  St.  Croix. 

For  the  present  our  business  lies  only  with 
that  portion  of  British  territory  east  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  between  them,  the 
Bay  of  Hudson  and  the  Arctic  Ocean. 

From  the  base  of  the  great  range  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  the  Continent  of  British 
America  slopes  towards  North  and  East, 
until,  unbroken  by  one  mountain  summit,  but 
in  a  profound  and  lasting  desolation,  it  dips 
its  shaggy  arms  and  ice-bound  capes  into  a 
sea  as  drear  and  desolate. 

•Two  great  rivers,  following  of  necessity 
this  depression,  shed  their  waters  into  the 
Bay  of  Hudson.  One  is  the  Saskatchewan, 
of  which  we  have  already  spoken ;  the  other, 
that  river  known  by  various  names — "  Eng- 
lish," because  the  English  traders  first  en- 
tered the  country  by  it ;  ''  Beaver, "  from  the 
numbers  of  that  animal  trapped  along  it  in 
olden  time ;  "  Churchill, "  because  a  fort  of 
that  name  stands  at  its  estuary;  and  "  Mis- 
sinipi,"  or  "much  water,"  by  the  wild  races 
who  dwell  upon  it  The  first  river  has  a 
total  length  of  1,700  miles;  the  last  runs  its 
course  through  worthless  forest  and  2)rimeval 
rock  for  1,200  miles 

40 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Our  Winter  Home — A  Welcome — I  Start  Again— 
The  Hunter's  Camp — In  Quest  of  Buffalo  on 
the  Plains — "  Lodge-poling  "  Leads  to  Love. 

At  the  foot  of  the  high  ridge  which  marks 
the  junction  of  the  two  Saskatchewaus,  deep 
in  pines  and  pojjlars,  through  which  vistas 
had  been  cut  to  give  glimpses  along  the  con- 
verging rivers,  stood  the  winter  hut  of  whioh 
I  have  already  spoken.  From  its  chimney 
blue  smoke  curled  up  amongst  the  trees  into 
the  lower  atmosphere,  and  the  sound  of  wood- 
cutting came  ringing  from  below,  a  token  of 
labour  not  yet  completed  in  our  wild  and 
secluded  resting-place. 

I  stood  for  a  moment  looking  down  on  this 
scene — a  home  in  the  great  wilderness— and 
then  a  loud  shout  echoed  into  the  valley  to 
carry  tidings  of  our  arrival  to  the  inmates  of 
the  hut.  In  an  instant  it  was  answered  from 
below,  and  the  solitudes  rang  with  many  a 
note  of  welcome,  while  half  a  dozen  dogs 
bayed  furious  defiance  at  my  pack,  already 
become  boisterouslj'  jubilant  on  the  ridge 
above.  When  friends  meet  thus,  after  long 
travel  and  separation,  there  are  many  ques- 
41 


THE  AYILD  NUKTII  LAND. 

tious  to  ask  and  to  answer,  and  the  autumn 
evening  had  worn  to  midnight  ere  the  pine- 
log  lire  threw  its  light  upon  a  silent  hut. 

The  winter  season  was  now  at  hand ;  our 
house  was  nearly  completed,  our  stores  put 
away,  our  dogs  kennelled ;  but  one  most  press- 
ing want  had  yet  to  be  supplied — our  winter 
stock  of  meat  had  to  be  gathered  in,  and 
there  was  no  time  to  lose  about  obtaining  it. 

It  was  the  last  of  October,  just  one  day 
after  my  arrival  at  the  Forks,  when  we  turned 
our  faces  westward  in  quest  of  buffalo.  They 
Avere  said  to  be  a  long  Avay  off—  200  miles 
nearer  to  the  setting  sun — out  somewhere  on 
that  great  motionless  ocean,  Avhere  no  tree, 
no  bush  breaks  the  vast  expanse  of  prairie ; 
land  to  which  the  wild  men  of  the  west  and 
those  who  lead  wild  lives  there  have  turned 
for  many  an  age  in  search  of  that  food  Avhich 
nature  once  so  generously  scattered  over  the 
plains  of  Central  North  America. 

Journeying  slowly  towards  the  west — for 
already  the  snow  had  begun  to  fall  in  many 
storms,  and  the  landscape  had  become  wrapt 
in  its  winter  mantle — we  reached  in  live  days 
one  of  those  curious  assemblages  of  half-breed 
hunters  which  are  to  be  found  in  winter  on 
the  borders  of  the  great  plains. 

Huts  promiscuously  crowded  together; 
horses,  dogs,  women,  cliildren,  all  intermixed 
in  a  confusion  worthy  of  Donnybrook  Fair; 
43 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

•half-breed  hunters,  ribboned,  tasselled,  and 
capoted,  lazy,  idle,  and,  if  there  is  any  spirit 
in  the  camp,  sure  to  be  intoxicated;  rem- 
nants and  wrecks  of  buffalo  lying  everywhere 
around;  robes  stretched  and  drying;  meat 
piled  on  stages ;  wolf-skins  S})read  over  frame- 
work; women  drawing  water  and  carrying 
wood ;  and  at  dusk  from  tlie  little  hut  tlie 
glow  of  tirelight  through  parchment  windows, 
the  sound  of  fiddle  scraped  with  rough  hunter 
hand,  and  the  quick  thud  of  hunter  heel  as 
Louison,  or  Batiste,  or  Gabriel  foot  it  cease- 
lessly upon  the  half -hewn  floors. 

Unquestionably  these  French  half-breeds 
are  wild  birds— hunters,  drinkers,  rovers,  ras- 
cals if  you  will — yet  generous  and  hospitable 
withal;  destined  to  disappear  before  the 
white  man's  footprint,  and  ere  that  time  has 
come  owing  many  of  their  vices  to  the  pioneer 
American,  whose  worst  qualities  the  wild 
man,  or  semi-wild  man,  has  been  ever  too 
sure  to  imitate. 

After  a  delay  of  three  days  in  this  hunter's 
camp,  which  by  some  strange  anomaly  was 
denominated  "la  mission,"  its  sole  claim  to 
that  title  being  the  residence  of  a  French 
priest  in  the  community,  we  started  on  our 
journey  further  west. 

The  winter  had  now  regularly  set  in ;  the 
broad  South  Saskatchewan  was  rolling  thick 
masses  of  ice  down  its  half-closed  channel, 
43 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAN'D. 

the  snow-covering  had  deepened  on  the  land- , 
scape,  the  wmd  blew  keenly  over  the  prairie. 
Many  of  our  horses  had  been  too  poor  to  take 
upon  this  journey,  and  the  half-breed  whom 
I  had  brought  from  Red  River,  dreading  the 
exposure  of  the  plains,  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  hunter's  camp  to  desert  our  service; 
so  another  man  liad  been  engaged,  and,  with 
three  fresh  horses  and  an  urchin  attendant  in 
the  shape  of  a  little  half-breed,  designated 
by  our  new  man  as  'Thomme  capable,"  and 
for  whose  services  he  demanded  only  the 
moderate  sum  of  hve  shillings  per  diem,  we 
held  our  course  along  the  South  Saskatche- 
wan towards  the  Great  Prairie. 

Xavier  Batoche  was  a  fair  sample  of  his 
class.  The  blood  of  four  nationalities  min- 
gled in  his  veins.  His  grandfather  had  been 
a  French  Canadian,  his  grandmother  a  Crow 
squaw  ;  Englisli  and  Cree  had  contributed  to 
his  descent  on  his  mother's  side.  The  cere- 
mony of  taking  a  wife  in  the  early  days  of 
the  nortli-west  fur  trade  was  not  an  elaborate 
performance,  or  one  much  encumbered  by 
social  or  religious  preliminaries.  If  it  did 
not  literally  fulfil  the  condition  of  force  im- 
plied by  the  word  "taking,"  it  usually  de- 
veloped into  a  question  of  barter;  a  horse, 
a  flint  gun,  some  white  cloth  and  beads,  could 
purchase  the  hand  and  heart  of  the  fairest 
squaw  in  Prairie  land.  If  she  did  not  love 
44 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

after  one  of  these  valuable  "  presents  "  had 
been  made  to  her  father,  the  lodge-poles  were 
always  handy  to  enforce  that  obedience  neces- 
sary to  domestic  happiness — admirable  idea, 
the  roof-tree  couti-ibiited  to  the  peace  of  the 
hearth-stone,  and  jealousy  fled  before  a 
"  lodge-poling. "  To  return  to  Batoche ;  Crow 
and  Cree,  French  and  English,  had  contrived 
to  produce  a  genial,  good-humoured,  hand- 
some fellow ;  the  previous  year  had  been  one 
of  plenty,  buffalo  had  once  more  appeared  in 
vast  herds  on  the  prairies  of  the  Saskatche- 
wan; wolf-skins,  robes,  and  pemmican  had 
fetched  high  prices,  and  Batoche  was  rich 
and  prosperous. 

Two  days'  journeying  brought  us  to  the 
edge  of  the  great  prairie ;  silent,  vast,  and 
desolate  it  spread  away  into  unseen  space ; 
the  snow  but  scantily  covered  the  yellow 
grass,  and  the  November  wind  sighed  mourn- 
fully through  the  wrecks  of  summer  vegeta- 
tion as  it  sped  along  its  thousand  leagues  of 
unmeasured  meadow.  At  the  last  copse  of 
poplar  and  willow  we  halted  for  a  day,  to 
bake  bread  and  cut  Avood  sufficient  for  a 
week's  food  and  fuel,  and  then  we  launched 
our  ocean  ships — horses  and  sleds — out  into 
the  great  meadow. 


45 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

An  Ocean  of  Grass — The  Red  iVIan — Wlience  Comes 
HeV — Tlie  Buffalo — Puritans  and  Pioneers — The 
Red  Man's  Friend. 

The  general  term  "  prairie "  comprises 
many  varieties  of  open  landscape.  There 
are  the  level,  alluvial  prairies  of  Illinois, 
long  since  settled  and  colonized;  there  are 
the  low,  fertile  prairies  of  the  Red  River, 
where  the  rich  black  mould,  fallow  under 
five  months  of  snow,  puts  forth  the  rank 
luxuriance  of  a  hot-bed  during  the  half  tropic 
heat  of  summer;  there  are  the  sandy  prairies 
of  the  Assineboine  and  Qu'Appelle,  inter- 
mixed with  clusters  of  aspen  and  of  willow, 
and  broken  by  lakes  and  saline  ponds :  but 
above  each  and  all — exceeding  all  other  prai- 
ries and  open  spaces — wild,  treeless,  and 
ocean-like  in  everything  save  motion,  there 
stands  forth  in  dreary  grandeur  the  Great 
Prairie. 

What  the  Irish  Sea,  the  Channel,  the  Bal- 
tic, and  the  Mediterranean  are  to  the  Atlan- 
tic, so  are  these  various  outlying  regions  of 
plain  to  the  vast  rigid  ocean  of  the  central 
continent.  It  is  true  that  on  the  Red  River, 
46 


THE  WILD   XORTIT  LAND. 

on  the  Qii'Ai)pello,  or  along  tlie  lin(^  T  liave 
lately  passed,  one  may  frequently  "get  out 
of  siglit  of  land;  "  tluMe  a're  spaces  where  no 
tree  or  bush  breaks  the  long  monotony  of  the 
sky-line ;  but  all  these  expanses  are  as  noth- 
ing compared  to  the  true  prairie. 

The  unending  vision  of  sky  and  grass,  the 
dim,  distant,  and  ever-shifting  horizon ;  the 
ridges  that  seem  to  be  rolled  upon  one  another 
in  motionless  torpor;  the  effect  of  sunrise 
and  sunset,  of  night  narrowing  the  vision  to 
nothing,  and  morning  only  expanding  it  to  a 
shapeless  blank;  the  sigh  and  sough  of  a 
breeze  that  seems  an  echo  in  unison  with  the 
solitude  of  which  it  is  the  sole  voice;  and, 
above  all,  the  sense  of  lonely,  unending  dis- 
tance which  comes  to  the  voyaginir  when  day 
after  day  has  gone  by,  night  has  closed,  and 
morning  dawned  upon  his  onward  progress 
under  the  same  ever-moving  horizon  of  grass 
and  sky. 

Only  two  wild  creatures  have  made  this 
grassy  desert  their  home. 

Back,  since  ages  at  whose  birth  we  can 
only  guess,  but  which  in  all  human  proba- 
bility go  deeper  into  the  past  than  the  reign 
of  Arab  in  Yemen,  or  Kirghis  in  Turkestan, 
the  wild  red  man  has  roamed  these  wastes : 
back  into  that  dark  night  which  liangs  for- 
ever over  all  we  know  or  shall  know  of  early 
America.  "  The  time  before  the  white  man 
47 


TFTE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

came,"  Aviiat  a  measureless  eternity  lies  hid- 
den under  the  words !  Tliis  prairie  was  here 
when  the  stones  of  the  pyramid  were  unhewn, 
and  the  site  of  Babylon  was  a  river  meadow 
— here  as  it  is  to-day,  treeless,  desolate,  and 
storm-swept.  But  where  and  whence  came 
the  wild  denizens  of  the  waste?  Who  shall 
say?  Fifty  writers  have  broached  their  vari- 
ous theories,  a  hundred  solutions  have  been 
offered.  The  missionary  claims  them  as  the 
lost  tribes  of  Israel,  one  ethnologist  finds  in 
them  a  likeness  to  the  Tartar,  another  sees 
the  Celtic  eye,  another  the  Roman  nose, 
another  traces  them  back  to  Japan,  or  China, 
or  Australasia;  the  old  world  is  scarcely 
large  enough  to  give  them  room  for  their 
speculations.  And  what  say  we?  Nothing; 
or  if  aught,  a  conjecture  perhaps  more  vague 
and  shadowy  than  the  rest.  It  has  seemed 
to  us  when  watching  this  strange,  Avild 
hunter,  this  keen,  untutored  scholar  of  na- 
ture, this  human  creat\ire  that  sickens  beneath 
our  civilization,  and  dies  midst  our  prosperity 
— it  has  seemed  to  us  that  he  was  of  a  race 
older  and  more  remote  than  our  own,  a  stock 
coeval  with  a  shadowy  age — a  remnant,  per- 
chance, of  an  earlier  creation  which  has  van- 
ished from  the  earth,  preserved  here  in  these 
wilds — a  waif  flung  by  the  surge  of  time  to 
these  later  ages  of  our  own. 

This  New  World  is  older  than  our  old  one. 
48 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

Its  30,000  feet  in  depth  of  Azoic  rock  tell  us 
of  ail  age  when  nought  of  living  form  moved 
over  the  iron  earth.  And  here,  probably 
lirst  of  all,  the  molten  sands  rose  above  the 
boiling  floods,  and  cooled  and  crusted  into  a 
chaotic  continent. 

These  are  but  idle  speculations;  still  the 
antiquity  of  the  Indian  race  rests  upon  other 
foundations.  Far  to  the  south,  where  the 
prairies  rise  into  the  lofty  plateau  of  New 
Mexico,  ruined  monuments,  weed-grown,  and 
hidden  beneath  ivy  and  trailing  parasites, 
stand  like  spectres  from  the  tomb  of  time. 
Before  these  mouldering  rock-hewn  cities 
conjecture  halts;  the  past  has  drawn  over 
them  a  veil  that  no  research  can  pierce,  no 
learning  solve.  Inscrutable  as  the  vestiges 
of  an  earlier  earth  they  stand,  the  lonely, 
ruined  wrecks  of  the  Red  man's  race. 

So  much  for  the  earlier  existence  of  the 
human  dweller  on  the  prairie ;  to  us  he  is  but 
a  savage — the  impediment  to  our  progress — 
the  human  counterpart  of  forests  which  have 
to  be  felled,  mountains  which  must  be  tun- 
nelled, rivers  whose  broad  currents  are  things 
to  conquer ;  he  is  an  obstacle,  and  he  must  be 
swept  away.  To  us  it  matters  not  whether 
his  race  dwelt  here  before  a  Celt  had  raised 
a  Druid  altar.  The  self-styled  heirs  to  all 
the  centuries  reck  little  of  such  things. 

And  now  let  us  turn  for  a  moment  to  that 
4  49 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

other  Avild  creature  which  has  made  its  dw  ell- 
ii)g  on  the  Great  Prairie. 

Over  the  grassy  ocean  of  the  west  there 
has  moved  from  time  immemorial  a  restless 
tide.  Backwards  and  forwards,  now  north, 
now  south — now  filling  the  dark  gorges  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains — now  trailing  into  the 
valleys  of  the  Rio  del  Norte — now  pouring 
down  the  Avooded  slopes  of  the  Saskatchewan, 
surged  millions  on  millions  of  dusky  bisons. 

AVhat  led  them  in  their  strange  migrations 
no  man  could  tell,  but  all  at  once  a  mighty 
impulse  seemed  to  seize  the  myriad  herds, 
and  they  moved  over  the  broad  realm  which 
gave  them  birth  as  the  waves  of  the  ocean 
roll  before  the  storm.  Nothing  stopped  them 
on  their  march ;  great  rivers  stretched  before 
them  with  steep,  overhanging  banks,  and 
beds  treacherous  with  quicksand  and  shifting 
bar;  huge  chasms  and  earth-rents,  the  work 
of  subterraneous  forces,  ci'ossed  their  line  of 
march,  but  still  the  countless  thousands 
swept  on.  Through  day  and  night  the  earth 
trembled  beneath  their  tramp,  and  the  air 
was  filled  with  the  deep  bellowing  of  their 
unnumbered  throats. 

Crowds  of  wolves  and  flocks  of  vultures 
dogged  and  hovered  along  their  way,  for 
many  a  huge  beast,  half  sunk  in  quicksand, 
caught  amidst  whirling  ice  floe,  or  bruised 
and  maimed  at  the  foot  of  some  steep  preci- 
se 


THE   WH-I)   NOHTH    I.AXD 

])ico,  inaiked  tlieiv  line  of  luarcli,  like  the 
wrecks  lying  spread  beliiiid  a  routed  army. 
Nearly  two  millions  of  s(|uare  miles  formed 
their  undivided  domain ;  on  three  sides  a 
forest  boundary  encircled  it,  on  the  fourth  a 
great  mountain  range  loomed  up  against  the 
western  sky.  Through  this  enormous  area 
countless  creeks  and  rivers  meandered  through 
the  meadows,  where  the  prairie  grass  grew 
thick  and  rank,  and  the  cottonwoods  spread 
their  serpentine  belts.  Out  in  the  vast  prai- 
rie the  Missouri,  the  Platte,  the  Sweet 
Water,  the  Arkansas,  the  South  Saskatche- 
wan, the  Big  Horn,  the  Yellowstone,  rolled 
their  volumes  towards  the  east,  gathering  a 
thousand  affluents  as  they  Howed. 

Countless  ages  passed,  tribe  warred  and 
Avandered,  but  the  life  of  the  wilderness  lay 
deep  beneath  the  waves  of  time,  and  the  roll 
of  the  passing  centuries  disturbed  not  its 
slumber. 

At  last  the  white  man  came,  and  soon  from 
south  and  uorth  the  restless  adventurers  of 
Latin  Europe  pierced  the  encircling  forests, 
and  beheld  the  mighty  meadows  of  the  Cen- 
tral Continent.  Spaniards  on  the  south, 
Frenchmen  on  the  north,  no  one  in  the  cen- 
tre ;  for  the  prudent  Plymouth  Puritan  was 
more  intent  on  flogging  witches  and  gather- 
ing riches  than  on  penetrating  the  tangled 
forest  which  lay  westward  of  his  settlement, 
51 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

Ko;  his  was  not  tlie  work  of  adventure  and 
discovery.  Others  might  go  before  and  brave 
the  thousand  perils  of  food  and  forest;  lie 
would  follow  after,  as  the  Jew  jtedlar  follows 
the  spendthrift,  as  the  sutler  dogs  the  foot- 
steps of  the  soldier. 

What  though  he  be  in  possession  of  the 
wide  dominion  now,  and  the  names  of  France 
and  Spain  be  shrunken  into  a  shapeless 
dream;  tJiat  only  proves  what  Ave  knew  be- 
fore, that  the  men  who  lead  the  way  to  a 
great  future  are  fated  never  to  reap  the  golden 
harvest  of  their  dreams. 

And  ever  since  that  advent  of  the  Avhite 
man  the  scene  has  changed  ;  the  long  slumber 
of  the  wilderness  was  broken,  and  hand  in 
hand  with  the  new  left  death  moved  amidst 
the  wild  denizens  of  the  Prairies.  Human 
life  scattered  over  a  vast  area,  animal  life 
counted  by  tens  of  millions,  take  a  long  time 
to  destroy;  and  it  is  only  to-day — 370  years 
after  a  Portuguese  sailor  killed  and  captured 
a  band  of  harmless  Indians,  and  350  since  a 
Spanish  soldier  first  beheld  a  herd  of  buffa- 
loes beyond  the  meadows  of  the  Mississijjpi 
— that  the  long,  ho])eless  struggle  of  the  wild 
dwellers  of  the  wilderness  may  be  said  to 
have  reached  its  closing  hour. 

In  thus  classing  together  the  buffalo  and 
the  red  man  as  twin  dwellers  on  the  Great 
Prairie,  I  have  but  followed  the  Indian  idea. 
53 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

"  What  shall  we  do?  "  said  a  young  Sioux 
warrior  to  an  American  officer  on  the  Upper 
Missouri  some  fifteen  years  ago.  "  What 
sliall  we  do?  tlie  buffalo  is  our  only  friend. 
When  lie  goes,  all  is  over  with  the  Dacotahs. 
I  speak  thus  to  you  because  like  me  you  are 
a  Brave." 

It  was  little  wonder  that  he  called  the 
buffalo  his  only  friend.  Its  skin  gave  him  a 
house,  its  robe  a  blanket  and  a  bed,  its  un- 
dressed liide  a  boat,  its  short,  curved  horn  a 
l)owder-flask,  its  meat  his"  daily  food,  its 
sinew  a  string  for  his  bow,  its  leather  a  lariat 
for  his  horse,  a  saddle,  bridle,  rein,  and  bit. 
Its  tail  formed  an  ornament  for  his  tent,  its 
inner  skin  a  book  in  which  to  sketch  the 
brave  deeds  of  his  life,  the  *'  medicine  robe  " 
of  his  history.  House,  boat,  food,  bed,  and 
covering,  every  want  from  infancy  to  age, 
and  after  life  itself  had  i)assed,  wrapt  in  his 
buffalo  robe  the  red  man  waited  for  the  dawn. 


58 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 


CHAPTER  VIIT. 

Buflfak)  Hunts — A  Picture  Once  Seen  Long  Remem- 
bered— L'Homme  Capable — A  Wonderful  Lake 
— The  Lost  Indian — An  Apparition — We  Return 
Home. 

It  was  mid-Xovember  before  we  reached 
the  buffalo;  tlie  snow  had  deepened,  the  coUl 
had  become  intense,  and  our  horses  under  the 
influence  of  travel,  cold,  and  exposure,  had 
become  miserably  thin.  To  hunt  the  herds 
on  horseback  Avould  have  been  an  inij)ossi- 
bility ;  the  new-fallen  snow  hid  the  nuirder- 
ous  badger  holes  that  covered  the  prairie  sur- 
face, and  to  gallop  weak  liorses  over  such 
ground  must  have  been  certain  disaster. 

l^uft'alo  hunts  on  horseback  or  on  foot  have 
frequently  been  tlie  tlieme  of  travellers' 
story.  Eu.xton  and  Palliser,  and  INlayne 
Reid  and  Catlin,  have  filled  many  a  page 
witli  glowing  deseriptions  of  charge  and 
countercharge,  stalk  and  stampede.  Wash- 
ington Irving  has  lighted  with  liis  genius  the 
dull  records  of  western  wandeiings,  and  to 
sketch  now  the  ])ursuit  of  that  huge  beast  (so 
soon  to  l)e  an  extinct  giant)  would  be  lo  repeat 
a  thrice-tohl  tale. 

Wlio  has  not  seen  in  pencil  sketch  or  peu 
54 


TflK   AVILI)   XoKTir   T.AXD. 

Story  tlie  image  of  tlie  huge,  sliaggy  beast 
careering  madl3'-  before  an  eagle-feathered 
red  man,  wliose  horse  decked  like  its  rider 
with  the  feathered  troj^hy,  launches  liimself 
swiftly  over  the  prairie'/  The  full-drawn 
bow,  the  deadly  arrow,  the  stricken  aninuil, 
the  wild  confusion  of  the  flying  herd,  the 
wounded  giant  turning  to  bay — all  these  have 
been  described  a  thousand  times;  so  also  has 
the  stalk,  the  stealthy  approach  under  the 
wolf-skin  covering,  the  careful  shot  and  the 
stupid  stare  of  the  startled  aninuils  as  they 
pause  a  moment  to  gather  consciousness  that 
this  thing  which  they  deemed  a  wolf  in  the 
grass  is  in  reality  their  most  deadly  enemy, 
man.  All  these  have  found  record  from  pen 
and  pencil ;  but  I  much  doubt  me  if  it  be 
possible  to  place  before  a  reader's  mental 
vision  anything  like  a  true  picture  of  the 
sense  of  solitude,  of  endless  space,  of  awful 
desolation  which  at  times  comes  to  the  travel- 
ler's mind  as  he  looks  over  some  vast  prairie 
and  beholds  a  lonely  herd  of  bisons  trailing 
slowly  across  that  sn()w-wrai)t,  endless  ex- 
panse, into  the  shadows  of  the  coming  night. 
Such  a  sight  I  have  beheld  more  than  once, 
and  its  memory  returns  at  times  with  the  sigh 
of  the  south  wind,  or  the  waving  of  a  pine 
branch.  It  is  from  moments  such  as  these 
that  the  wanderer  draws  the  recompense  of 
his  toil,  and  reaps  in  aftertime  the  harvest  of 
50 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

his  hardship.  No  book  has  told  the  story, 
no  picture  has  caught  the  colouring  of  sky  and 
plain,  no  sound  can  echo  back  the  music  of 
that  vuitainted  breeze,  sighing  so  mournfully 
through  the  yelloAv  grass,  but  all  the  same 
the  vision  returns  Avithout  one  effort  of  re- 
membrance :  the  vast  plain  snow-wrapt,  the 
west  ablaze  Avith  gold,  and  green,  and  saf- 
fron, and  colours  never  classed  or  catalogued, 
while  the  horizon  circle  from  north  to  east 
and  south  grows  dim  and  indistinct,  and,  far 
off,  the  bison  herd  in  long,  scattered  file 
trails  sloAvly  across  the  blue-Avhite  snoAV  into 
the  caverns  of  the  sunset. 

We  carried  with  \is  a  leather  tent  of  eight 
skins,  small  of  its  kind,  but  capable  of  shel- 
tering the  five  individuals  comprising  our 
party.  This  tent,  pitched  in  some  hollow  at 
sunset,  formed  the  sole  speak  of  life  amidst 
the  vast  solitude.  Ten  poles  resting  on  the 
ground,  and  locked  together  at  the  top,  sup- 
ported the  leather  covering.  An  open  space 
at  the  apex  of  the  tent  Avas  supposed  to  alloAV 
the  smoke  to  escape,  but  the  smoke  usually 
seemed  to  consider  itself  under  no  restraint 
AA'hatever  in  the  dim  interior  of  our  lodge, 
and  seldom  or  neA'er  took  advantage  of  the 
means  of  fieedom  so  liberally  provided  for  it. 
Our  stock  of  fuel  was  very  limited,  and 
barely  sufficed  to  Ixtil  a  kettle  and  fry  a  dish 
of  pemmioau  at  the  opening  or  close  of  each 


THE  WIIJ)  NORTH  LAND. 

day.  When  the  evening  meal  was  finished, 
we  sat  awhile  grouped  around  the  small  fire 
in  the  centre.  "  L'homnie  capable  "  ran  round 
our  line  of  traps,  returning  with  a  couple  of 
kit  foxes,  the  fattest  of  which  he  skinned  and 
roasted  for  his  supper.  Then  we  gathered 
the  blankets  close  together,  and  lying  down 
slept  until  the  dawn  came  struggling  through 
the  open  roof,  and  cold  and  hungry  we  sat 
again  around  the  little  fire.  Thus  we  jour- 
neyed on. 

Scattered  over  the  wide  prairie  which  lies 
between  the  South  Saskatchewan  and  the 
Eagle  Hills  roamed  many  herds  of  buffalo. 
But  their  numbers  were  very  far  short  of 
those  immense  herds  which,  until  a  few  years 
ago,  were  wont  to  cover  the  treeless  regions 
of  the  west.  Yet  they  were  numerous  enougli 
to  make  the  onlooker  marvel  how  they  still 
held  their  own  against  the  ever-increasing 
odds  arrayed  against  them. 

Around  the  wide  circle  of  this  prairie  ocean 
lay  scattered  not  less  than  15,000  wild  peo- 
ple, all  preying  with  wasteful  vigour  upon 
these  scattered  herds ;  but  the  niimbers  killed 
for  the  consumption  of  these  Indian  or  half- 
Indian  men  formed  but  a  small  item  in  the 
lists  of  slaughter.  To  the  north  and  east 
the  denizens  of  the  remote  parts  of  tlie  great 
regions  locked  in  savage  distance,  the  land 
of  fur,  the  laud  ^^'hieh  stretches  to  the  win- 
57 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND 

try  shores  of  the  Bay  of  Hudson,  and  the 
storm-swept  capes  of  the  Arctic  Ocean,  looked 
for  their  means  of  summer  transports  to  these 
wandering  herds  in  the,  to  them,  far  distant 
Saskatchewan.  What  food  w^as  it  that  the 
tired  voyayeur  munched  so  stolidly  at  night- 
fall by  the  camp  fire  on  some  long  I'tortarje  of 
the  Winnipeg,  the  Nelson,  or  the  Beaver 
Rivers,  or  ate  with  so  much  relish  ere  the 
morning  sun  Avas  glinting  along  the  waves  of 
far  Lake  Athabasca;  and  his  boat,  rich  laden 
with .  precious  fur,  rocked  on  the  secluded 
shore  of  some  nameless  bay?  It  was  buffalo 
pemmican  from  the  Saskatchewan.  And 
wdiat  food  Avas  it  tliat  these  dozen  hungry 
dogs  devoured  with  such  haste  by  that  lonely 
camp  fire  in  the  dark  pine  forest,  Avhen  all 
nature  lay  in  its  mid-Avinter  torpor  frozen  to 
the  soul ;  Avhen  the  i)ine-log  flared  upon  some 
snoAv-sheeted  lake,  or  ice-bound  river  in  the 
great  Avilderness  of  the  north?  It  Avas  the 
same  hard  mixture  of  fat  and  dried  buffalo- 
jueat  pounded  down  into  a  solid  mass  Avhich 
the  Indians  called  "  pemmican."  Small  Avon- 
der  then  that  the  great  herds  had  dwindled 
doAvn  to  their  present  numbers,  and  that  noAV 
the  once  wide  domain  of  the  buffalo  had 
shrunken  inio  the  limits  of  the  great  prairie. 
Yet,  even  still,  the  numbei'S  annually 
killed  seem  (juite  iiicredil)le ;  12,000  are  said 
to  fall  to  the  Blackfeet  tribes  alone ;  in  a 
5« 


THE   WILD   NOI^TII    LAXD. 

single  liunt  the  French  half-breeds,  whose 
winter  camp  we  had  lately  visited,  liad  killed 
GOO  cows.  The  forts  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  were  filled  with  many  thousand 
bags  of  pemmican,  and  to  each  bag  two  ani- 
mals may  be  counted ;  Avhile  not  less  than 
30,000  robes  had  already  found  their  way  to 
the  lied  River,  and  fully  as  many  more  in 
skins  of  parchment  or  in  leather  had  been 
traded  or  consumed  in  the  thousand  wants  of 
savage  life ;  and  all  are  ruthlessly  killed — 
young  and  old,  calves  and  cows,  it  matters 
little;  the  Indian  and  the  half-breed  know 
no  such  quality  as  forethought.  Kor,  looking 
at  this  annual  havoc,  and  seeing  still  in  spite 
of  all  the  dusky  herds  yet  roaming  over  the 
treeless  waste,  can  we  marvel  that  the  Red 
man  should  ascribe  to  agencies  other  than 
mortal  the  seemingly  endless  numbers  of  his 
favourite  animal? 

South-west  from  the  Eagle  llills,  far  out 
in  the  i)rairie,  there  lies  a  lake  whose  waters 
never  rest;  day  and  night  a  ceaseless  mur- 
mur l)reaks  the  silence  of  the  spot. 

"See,"  says  the  Red  man,  ''it  is  from 
under  that  lake  that  our  buffalo  comes.  You 
say  they  are  all  gone ;  but  look,  they  come 
again  and  again  to  us.  We  cannot  kill  them 
all — they  are  there  under  that  lake.  Do  you 
hear  the  noise  which  never  ceases?  It  is  the 
buffalo  fighting  with  each  other  far  down 
50 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAXD. 

undei-  the  ground,  and  striving  to  get  out 
upon  the  prairie — where  else  can  they  come 
from?  " 

We  may  well  ask  the  question  where  can 
they  come  from?  for  in  truth  the  vast  ex- 
panse of  the  great  prairie  seems  too  small  to 
save  them  from  their  relentless  foes. 

The  creek  of  the  Eagle  Hills  winds  through 
the  prairie  in  long,  lazy  bends.  The  beaver 
has  made  his  home  under  its  banks ;  and  in 
some  of  the  serpentine  bends  the  bastard 
maple  lifts  its  gnarled  trunk,  and  the  willow 
copses  grow  thickly.  It  is  a  favourite  ground 
for  the  hunter  in  summer ;  but  now,  in  mid- 
Xovember,  no  sign  of  man  was  visible,  and 
we  had  the  little  thicket  oasis  all  to  ourselves. 

It  was  in  this  spot,  some  two  years  ago, 
that  the  following  event  occurred.  In  a 
band  of  Crees  travelling  over  the  plains  there 
happened  to  be  a  blind  Indian.  Following 
the  band  one  day  he  lagged  behind,  and  the 
party  dipping  over  a  ridge  on  the  prairie  be- 
came lost  to  sound.  Becoming  suddenly 
alarmed  at  having  thus  lost  his  friends,  he 
l^egan  to  run  swiftly  in  hope  of  overtaking 
them ;  but  now  his  judgment  was  at  fault, 
and  the  direction  of  his  run  was  the  wrong 
one — he  found  himself  alone  on  the  immense 
plains.  Tired  at  last  b^-  the  speed  to  Avhich 
feverish  anxiety  had  urged  him,  he  sat  down 
to  think  over  his  chances.  It  was  hopeless 
60 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

to  attempt  to  regain  his  party;  he  was  far 
out  ill  the  grassy  ocean,  and  south,  west,  and 
east,  hiy  hundreds  of  miles  of  inuhihiting 
plain  ;  to  the  north  many  days'  journey,  but 
still  near,  in  relative  distance,  lay  the  forts 
of  the  white  man,  and  the  trail  which  led 
from  one  to  the  other  .  He  would  steer  for 
the  north,  and  Avould  endeavour  to  reach  one 
of  these  forts.  It  was  midsummer;  he  had 
no  food  but  the  carcasses  of  lately  killed  buf- 
falo were,  he  knew,  numerous  in  that  part  of 
the  prairie,  and  lakes  or  ponds  were  to  be 
found  at  intervals. 

He  set  out,  and  for  three  days  he  journeyed 
north.  "  How  did  he  steer?  "  the  reader  will 
ask ;  "  for  have  you  not  told  us  the  man  was 
blind?  "  Nevertheless,  he  steered  with  accu- 
racy towards  the  north.  From  sunrise  he  kept 
the  warm  glow  on  his  naked  right  shoulder; 
six  hours  later  the  heat  fell  full  upon  his  back ; 
towards  evening  the  rays  were  on  his  left  side ; 
and  when  the  sun  had  gone,  and  the  damp 
dew  began  to  fall,  he  lay  down  for  the  night: 
thus  he  held  a  tolerably  correct  course.  At 
times  the  soft  mud  of  a  lake  shore  cloyed  his 
feet;  but  that  promised  water,  and  after  a 
drink  he  resumed  his  way ;  the  lakelet  was 
rounded  and  the  course  pursued.  There  was 
no  food ;  for  two  days  he  travelled  on  pa- 
tiently, until  at  last  he  stumbled  over  the 
bones  of  a  buffalo.     He  felt  around ;  it  had 

ei 


THE   WILD   Noirni   LAND. 

been  killed  some  time,  and  tlie  wolves  had 
left  scant  pickings  on  ribs  or  legs,  but  on  the 
massive  head  the  skin  was  yet  untouched, 
and  his  knife  enabled  him  to  satisfy  his  hun- 
ger, and  to  carry  away  a  few  scraps  of  skin 
and  flesh. 

Thus  recruited  he  pressed  on .  It  was  draw- 
ing towards  evening  on  the  fifth  day  of  his 
weary  journe}' when  he  found  himself  reduced 
to  starvation,  weak  from  protracted  hunger 
and  faint  from  thirst;  the  day  had  been  a 
warm  one,  and  no  friendly  lake  had  given 
him  drink.  His  scanty  food  had  been  long 
exhausted,  and  there  seemed  but  little  hope 
that  he  could  live  to  feel  the  warm  sun  again. 
Its  rays  were  growing  faint  upon  his  left 
shoulder,  when  his  feet  suddenly  sank  into 
soft  mud,  and  the  reeds  and  flags  of  a  swamp 
brushed  against  his  legs:  here  was  water,  he 
lay  down  and  drank  a  long,  long  drauglit. 
Then  he  bethought  him.  Was  it  not  better  to 
stay  here  while  life  lasted?  Here  he  had  at 
least  water,  and  of  all  the  pangs  that  can 
afflict  the  lost  wanderer  that  of  thirst  is  the 
hardest  to  bear.  He  lay  down  midst  the 
reeds,  determined  to  wait  for  death. 

Some  few  miles  distant  to  the  north-east 
lay  the  creek  of  the  Eagle  Hills.  That  even- 
ing a  party  of  hunters  from  the  distant  fort 
of  A  la  Corne,  had  appeared  on  the  wide 
prairies  which  surrounded  this  creek;  they 
62 


THE   WTT.D   NOPvTII   LAND. 

were  in  search  of  Imlfalo,  it  wanted  an  lioiir 
of  sunset.  The  man  in  eharge  h)oke(l  at  tlif 
sinking  sun,  and  he  bethought  him  of  a 
cauiping-place. 

"  Go  to  such  and  such  a  bend  of  the  creek, '' 
he  said  to  his  hunters,  "unyoke  the  horses 
and  make  the  camp.  I  will  ride  to  yonder 
hill  and  take  a  look  over  the  plains  for  buf- 
falo; I  will  rejoin  you  at  the  camp." 

The  party  separated,  and  their  leader 
pushed  on  to  the  hill-top  for  a  better  survey 
of  the  plains.  When  he  reached  the  summit 
of  the  ridge  he  cast  a  look  on  every  side ;  no 
buffalo  Avere  to  be  seen,  but  to  his  surprise, 
his  men,  instead  of  obeying  his  orders  as  to 
the  route,  appeared  to  be  steering  in  a  differ- 
ent direction  from  the  one  he  had  indicated, 
and  were  already  far  away  to  the  south. 
When  he  again  overtook  them  they  were  in 
the  act  of  camping  on  the  borders  of  a 
swampy  lake,  a  long  way  from  the  place  he 
had  intended;  they  had  mistaken  the  track, 
they  said,  and  seeing  water  here  had  camped 
at  sunset. 

It  was  not  a  good  place,  and  the  officer  felt 
annoyed  at  their  stupidity.  While  they 
spoke  together  thus,  a  figure  suddenly  rose 
from  the  reeds  at  the  further  side  of  the  lake, 
and  called  loudly  for  assistance.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  hunters  were  amazed  at  this  sudden 
apparition  ;  they  were  somewhat  startled  too, 
63 


THE    WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

for  the  Blackfeet  l)an(ls  were  said  to  be  on 
the  war-trail.  But  presently  they  saAv  that 
there  was  only  a  solitary  stranger,  and  that 
he  Avas  blind  and  helpless:  it  was  the  lost 
Cree.  He  had  long  before  heard  the  hunters' 
approach,  but  not  less  deadly  Avas  the  fear  of 
Blackfeet  than  the  dread  of  death  by  starva- 
tion. Both  meant  death ;  but  one  meant 
scalping,  therefore  dishonour  in  addition.  It 
was  only  Avhen  the  Avelcome  sounds  of  the 
Cree  language  fell  on  his  ear  that  he  could 
reveal  his  presence  in  the  reed-fringed  lake. 

I  have  told  this  story  at  length  just  as  I 
heard  it  from  the  man  who  had  been  in  charge 
of  the  party  of  hunters,  because  it  brings 
home  to  the  mind  of  the  outsider,  not  only 
the  power  of  endurance  Avhich  the  Indian  dis- 
plays in  the  face  of  physical  difficulties,  but 
also  the  state  of  society  produced  by  the 
never-ending  wars  among  the  Indian  tribes. 
Of  the  mistake  which  caused  the  hunters  to 
alter  their  course  and  pitch  their  camp  in 
another  direction  than  that  intended  by  their 
leader  I  have  nothing  to  say ;  chance  is  a 
strange  leader  people  say.  Tables  are  said 
to  be  turned  by  unseen  powers  seemingly  like 
the  stars  in  the  song,  "because  they've  noth- 
ing else  to  do ;  "  but  for  my  part  I  had  rather 
believe  that  men's  footsteps  are  turned  south 
instead  of  west  under  other  Guidance  than 
that  of  chance,  when  that  change  of  direc- 
64 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

tion,  heedless  tliough  it  be,  saves  some  lost 
wanderer  who  has  lain  down  to  die. 

It  was  the  oid.  of  December,  when  with 
thin  and  tired,  horses,  we  returned  to  the 
Forks  of  the  Saskatchewan.  We  found  our 
house  wholly  completed;  on  the  stage  in 
front  safe  from  dogs  and  w^olves  the  produce 
of  the  hunt  was  piled,  the  weary  horses  were 
turned  loose  on  the  ridge  above,  and  with  a 
few  books  on  a  shelf  over  a  rude  but  com- 
fortable bed,  I  prepared  to  pass  the  next  two 
months  of  winter. 

It  was  full  time  to  reach  home ;  the  snow 
lay  deep  upon  the  ground ;  the  cold,  which 
had  set  in  unusually  early,  had  even  in  mid- 
November  fallen  to  thirty  degrees  below  zero, 
and  some  of  our  last  buffalo  stalks  had  been 
made  under  a  temperature  in  which  frozen 
fingers  usually  followed  the  handling,  with 
unmittened  hands,  of  rifle  stock  or  gun 
trigger. 

Those  who  in  summer  or  autumn  visit  the 
great  prairie  of  the  Saskatchewan  can  form 
but  a  faint  idea  of  its  winter  fierceness  and 
utter  desolation.  They  are  prone  to  paint 
the  scene  as  wanting  only  the  settler's  hut, 
the  yoke  of  oxen,  the  waggon,  to  become  at 
once  the  paradise  of  the  husbandman.  They 
little  know  of  what  they  speak.  Should  they 
really  wish  to  form  a  true  conception  of  life 
in  these   solitudes,  let  them  go  out  towards 

5  a 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

the  close  of  November  into  the  treeless  waste  ; 
tJien,  midst  tierce  storm  and  biting  cold,  and 
snowdrift  so  dense  that  earth  and  heaven 
seem  wrapped  together  in  indistinguishable 
chaos,  they  will  witness  a  sight  as  different 
from  their  summer  ideal  as  a  mid-Atlantic 
mid-winter  storm  varies  from  a  tranquil 
moonlight  on  the  ^Egean  Sea. 

During  the  sixteen  days  in  which  we  tra- 
versed the  prairie  on  our  return  journey,  we 
had  not  seen  one  soul,  one  human  being  mov- 
ing over  it;  the  picture  of  its  desolation  was 
complete. 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Strange  Visitors — At-tistighat  tlie  Philosopher — In- 
dian Converts — A  Domestic  Scene — The  Winter 
Packet — Adam  and  His  Dogs. 

December  passed  away,  the  new  year 
came,  the  cold  became  more  mtense.  The 
snow  deepened  and  the  broad  rivers  lay 
hushed  under  their  sparklmg  covering;  wide 
roadways  for  our  dog  sleighs.  At  times 
there  came  a  day  of  beautiful  clearness,  the 
sun  shone  brightly,  the  sky  was  of  the  deep- 
est blue,  and  the  earth  sparkled  in  its  spot- 
less covering.  At  night  the  moon  hung  over 
the  snow-wrapt  river  and  silent  pines  with 
the  brilliancy  of  a  fairy  scene ;  but  many  a 
day  and  night  of  storm  and  bitter  tempest 
passed,  and  not  unfrequently  the  thermome- 
ter placed  against  the  hut  wall  marked  full 
70  degrees  of  frost. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  year  four  of  our 
horses  died,  from  the  depth  and  hardness  of 
the  snow.  The  others  would  have  soon  fol- 
lowed if  left  to  find  their  own  sustenance,  but 
a  timely  removal  to  the  Fort  A  la  Corne, 
twenty  miles  lower  down  the  river,  saved 
them. 

67 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

When  tlie  year  was  diawiiig  to  its  close, 
two  Indians  pitched  tlieir  lodge  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  North  River,  and  finding  our 
stage  pretty  well  stocked  with  food  they  be- 
gan to  starve  immediately.  In  other  words, 
it  was  easier  to  come  to  us  for  buffalo  meat 
than  to  hunt  deer  for  themselves:  at  all 
hours  of  the  day  they  were  with  us,  and  fre- 
quently the  whole  family,  two  men,  two 
squaws,  and  three  children,  would  form  a 
doleful  procession  to  our  hut  for  food.  An 
Indian  never  knocks  at  a  door;  he  lifts  the 
latch,  enters  quietly,  shakes  hands  with  every 
one,  and  seats  himself,  without  a  word,  upon 
the  floor.  You  may  be  at  breakfast,  at  din- 
ner, or  in  bed,  it  doesn't  matter.  If  food  be 
not  offered  to  him,  he  will  wait  until  the 
meal  is  finished,  and  then  say  that  he  has 
not  eaten  for  so  many  hours,  as  the  case  may 
be.  Our  stock  of  food  was  not  over  suifi- 
cient,  but  it  was  impossible  to  refuse  it  to 
them  even  though  they  would  not  hunt  for 
themselves;  and  when  the  three  children 
were  paraded — all  pretty  little  things  from 
four  to  seven  years  of  age — the  argument  of 
course  became  irresistible. 

It  was  useless  to  tell  them  that  the  winter 
was  long,  that  no  more  buffalo  could  be  ob- 
tained; they  seemed  to  regard  starvation  as 
an  ordinary  event  to  be  calculated  upon,  that 
as  long  as  any  food  was  to  be  obtained  it  was 
68 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

to  be  eaten  at  all  times,  and  that  when  it  was 
gone — well  then  the  best  thing  was  to  do 
without  it. 

January  drew  to  a  close  in  very  violent 
storms  accompanied  by  great  cold.  Early 
one  morning  "  At-tistighat, "  or  as  we  called 
him,  Bourgout  No.  1,  arrived  Avith  news  that 
his  brother  had  gone  away  two  days  before, 
that  he  had  no  blanket,  no  food ;  and  that, 
as  it  had  not  been  his  intention  to  stay  out, 
he  concluded  that  he  had  perished.  "  At- 
tistighat  "  was  a  great  scoundrel,  but  never- 
theless, as  the  night  had  been  one  of  terrible 
storm,  we  felt  anxious  for  the  safety  of  his 
brother,  who  was  really  a  good  Indian. 
"Oo,"  we  said  to  him,  "look  for  your 
brother ;  here  is  pemmican  to  feed  you  during 
your  search."  He  took  the  food,  but  coolly 
asserted  that  in  all  probability  his  brother 
had  shot  himself,  and  that  consequently  there 
was  no  use  whatever  in  going  to  look  for 
him;  "or,"  he  said,  "he  is  dead  of  cold,  in 
which  case  it  is  useless  to  find  him." 

While  he  spoke  a  footstep  outside  an- 
nounced an  arrival,  the  door  opened,  and  the 
lost  Bourgout  No.  2  entered,  bearing  on  his 
back  a  heavy  load  of  venison. 

At-tistighat' s  line  of  argument  was  quite 

in  keeping  with  the  Indian   character,   and 

was  laughable   in   its   selfish   logic.      If   the 

man  was  alive,  he  would  find  his  own  way 

69 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

home ;  if  dead,  there  was  nothing  more  to  be 
done  in  the  matter :  but  in  any  case  pemmi- 
ean  was  not  to  be  despised. 

But  despite  their  habits  of  begging,  and 
their  frequently  unseasonable  visits,  our  Cree 
neighbours  aiforded  us  not  a  little  food  for 
amusement  in  the  long  winter  evenings.  In- 
dian character  is  wortli  the  stud}^,  if  we  will 
only  take  the  ti'ouble  to  divest  ourselves  of 
the  notion  that  all  men  should  be  like  our- 
selves. There  is  so  much  of  simplicity  and 
cunning,  so  much  of  close  reasoning  and 
child-like  suspicion ;  so  much  natural  quick- 
ness, sense  of  humour,  credulousness,  power 
of  observation,  faith  and  fun  and  selfishness, 
mixed  up  together  in  the  Red  man's  mental 
composition ;  that  the  person  who  will  find 
nothing  in  Indian  character  worth  studying 
will  be  likely  to  start  from  a  base  of  nullity 
in  his  own  brain  system. 

In  nearly  all  the  dealings  of  the  white 
man  with  the  red,  except  perhaps  in  those  of 
the  fur  trade,  as  conducted  by  the  great  fur 
companies,  the  mistake  of  judging  and  treat- 
ing Indians  by  European  standards  has  been 
made.  From  the  earliest  ages  of  American 
discovery,  down  to  the  present  moment,  this 
error  has  been  manifest;  and  it  is  this  error 
which  has  rendered  the  whole  missionary 
labour,  the  vast  machinery  set  on  foot  by  the 
charity  and  benevolence  of  the  various  reli- 
70 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

gious  bodies  during  so  many  centuries,  a 
practical  failure  to-day. 

When  that  Christian  King  Francis  the 
First  commissioned  Cartier  to  convert  the  In- 
dians, they  were  described  in  the  royal  edict 
as  "  men  without  knowledge  of  God,  or  use 
of  reason ; "  and  as  the  speediest  mode  of 
giving  them  one,  and  bringing  tliem  to  the 
other,  the  Quebec  chief  savage  was  at  once 
kidnapped,  carried  to  France,  ba})tized,  and 
within  six  months  was  a  dead  man.  We 
may  wonder  if  his  wild  subjects  had  imbibed 
sufficient  "  reason  "  during  the  absence  of  the 
ship  to  realize  during  the  following  season 
the  truth  of  what  they  were  doubtless  told, 
that  it  was  better  to  be  a  dead  Christian  than 
alive  savage;  but  no  doubt,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, they  might  be  excused  if  they 
"  didn't  quite  see  it."  Those  who  would  imag- 
ine that  the  case  of  Memberton  could  not  now 
occur  in  missionary  enterprise  are  deceived. 

Memberton,  who  is  said  to  have  been  a  de- 
vout Christian  in  the  early  days  of  Acadie, 
was  duly  instructed  in  the  Lord's  Prayer;  at 
a  certain  portion  of  the  prayer  he  was  wont 
to  append  a  request  that  "fish  and  moose 
meat "  might  also  be  added  to  his  daily  bread. 
And  previous  to  his  death,  whicli  occurred 
many  years  after  his  conversion,  he  is  said 
to  have  stoutly  demanded  that  the  savage 
rites  of  sepulture  should  be  bestowed  upon 
71 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

his  bodj^,  in  order  that  he  might  be  well  pre- 
pared to  make  vigorous  war  upon  his  euemies 
in  the  next  world.  This  is  of  the  past;  yet 
it  is  not  many  years  since  a  high  dignitary 
of  the  Church  was  not  a  little  horrified  by  a 
request  made  by  some  recently  converted 
Dog-Rib  Chiefs  that  the  rite  of  Baptism 
should  be  bestowed  upon  three  flaming  red 
flannel  shirts,  of  whicli  they  had  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives  become  the  joint  possessors. 

But  all  this  is  too  long  to  enter  upon  here ; 
enough  that  to  me  at  least  tlie  Indian  charac- 
ter is  worth  the  trouble  of  close  examination. 
If  those,  whose  dealings  religious  and  politi- 
cal with  the  Red  man  ai-e  numerous,  would 
only  take  a  leaf  from  Goldsmith's  experience 
when  he  first  essayed  to  become  a  teacher  of 
English  in  France,  ("for  I  found,"  he  writes, 
"that  it  was  necessary  I  should  previously 
learn  French  before  I  could  teach  them  Eng- 
lish,") very  much  of  the  ill  success  which 
had  attended  labours  projected  by  benevo- 
lence, and  prosecuted  with  zeal  and  devotion, 
might  perhaps  be  avoided. 

Long  before  ever  a  white  man  touched  the 
American  shore  a  misty  idea  floated  through 
the  red  man's  brain  that  from  far-off  lands  a 
stranger  would  come  as  the  messenger  of 
peace  and  plenty,  where  both  were  so  fre- 
quently unknown.  In  Florida,  in  Norem- 
bega,  in  Canada,  the  right  hand  of  fellowship 
72 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

was  the Jji-fit  proffered  to  the  new-comer;  and 
when  Cartier  entered  the  palisaded  village 
where  now  the  stately  capital  of  Canada 
spreads  out  along  the  base  of  the  steep  ridge, 
which  he  named  Royal  after  that  master 
whose  "  honour  "  had  long  been  lost  ere  on 
Pavia's  field  he  yielded  up  all  else,  the  dusky 
denizens  of  Hochelaga  brought  forth  their  sick 
and  stricken  comrades  "as  though  a  God  had 
come  among  them." 

Three  centuries  and  a  half  have  passed 
since  then ;  war,  pestilence  and  famine  have 
followed  the  white  man's  track.  Whole 
tribes  have  vanished  even  in  name  from  the 
continent,  yet  still  that  strange  tradition  of 
a  white  stranger,  kind  and  beneficent,  has 
outlived  the  unnumbered  cruelties  of  ages; 
and  to-day  the  starving  camp  and  the  shiver- 
ing bivouac  hear  again  the  hopeful  yet  hope- 
less story  of  "  a  good  time  coming. " 

Besides  our  Indians  Ave  were  favoured  with 
but  few  visitors,  silence  reigned  around  our 
residence ;  a  magpie  or  a  whisky-jack  some- 
times hopped  or  chattered  about  our  meat 
stage ;  in  the  morning  the  sharp-tailed  grouse 
croaked  in  birch  or  spruce  tree,  and  at  dusk, 
when  every  other  sound  was  hushed,  the 
small  grey  owl  hooted  his  lonely  cry.  Pleas- 
ant was  it  at  night  when  returning  after  a 
long  day  on  snow  shoes,  or  a  dog  trip  to  the 
ueai'est  fort,  to  reach  the  crest  of  the  steep 
73 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

ridge  that  surrounded  our  valley,  and  see  be- 
low the  firelight  gleaming  through  the  little 
window  of  our  hut,  and  the  red  sparks  flying 
upward  from  the  chimney  like  fire-flies  amidst 
the  dark  pine  trees;  nor  was  it  less  pleasant 
when  as  the  night  Avore  on  the  home  letter 
was  penned,  or  the  book  read,  while  the 
pine-log  fire  burnt  brightly  and  the  dogs  slept 
stretched  before  it,  and  the  light  glared  on 
rifle-barrel  or  axe-head  and  showed  the  skin- 
hung  rafters  of  our  lonely  home. 

As  January  drew  towards  a  close,  it  became 
necessary  to  make  preparations  for  a  long 
journey.  Hitherto  I  had  limited  my  wan- 
derings to  the  prairie  region  of  the  Saskatche- 
wan, but  these  wanderings  had  only  been  a 
preliminary  to  further  travel  into  the  great 
northern  wilds. 

To  pierce  the  forest  region  lying  north  of 
the  Saskatchewan  valley,  to  see  the  great 
lakes  of  the  Athabasca  and  that  vast  extent 
of  country  which  poui-s  its  waters  into  the 
Frozen  Ocean,  had  long  been  my  desire ;  and 
when  four  months  earlier  I  had  left  the  banks 
of  the  Red  River  and  turned  away  from  the 
last  limit  of  civilization,  it  was  with  the  hope 
that  ere  the  winter  snow  had  passed  from 
plain  and  forest  my  Avanderings  would  have 
led  me  at  least  2,000  miles  into  that  vast 
wilderness  of  the  Xortli. 

But  many  preparations  had  to  be  made 
74 


THE  AVILD  NORTH  LAND. 

against  cold  and  distance.  Dogs  liad  to  be 
fattened,  leather  clothing  got  ready,  harness 
and  sleds  looked  to,  baggage  reduced  to  the 
very  smallest  limit,  and  some  one  found  will- 
ing to  engage  to  drive  the  second  dog  sled, 
and  to  face  the  vicissitudes  of  the  long  north- 
ern road.  The  distance  itself  was  enough  to 
make  a  man  hesitate  ere  for  hire  he  embarked 
on  such  a  journey.  The  first  great  stage  was 
750  miles,  the  second  was  as  many  more,  and 
when  1,500  miles  had  been  traversed  there 
still  must  remain  half  as  much  again  before, 
on  the  river  systems  of  the  North  Pacific,  we 
could  emerge  into  semi-civilized  ways  of 
travel. 

Many  were  the  routes  which  my  brain 
sketched  out  during  the  months  of  autumn, 
but  finally  my  choice  rested  between  two 
rivers,  the  Mackenzie  rolling  its  waters  into 
the  Frozen  Ocean,  the  Peace  River  piercing 
the  great  defiles  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 
through  the  canons  and  stupendous  gorges  of 
Northern  British  Columbia.  A  chance  meet- 
ing decided  my  course. 

One  day  at  the  end  of  October  I  had 
camped  during  a  snow-storm  for  dinner  in 
the  Touchwood  Hills.  Suddenly  through 
the  drift  a  horseman  came  in  sight.  He 
proved  to  be  an  officer  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  from  the  distant  post  of  Dunvegan 
on  the  Peace  River :  of  all  men  he  was  the 
75 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

one  I  most  wished  to  see.  Ninety  clays 
earlier  he  had  left  his  station ;  it  was  far 
away,  but  still  with  dogs  over  the  ice  of 
frozen  rivers  and  lakes,  through  the  snow  of 
long  leagues  of  forest  and  muskey  and  prairie, 
I  might  hope  to  reach  that  post  on  Upper 
Peace  River  in  sixty  days ;  twenty  days  more 
might  carry  me  through  the  defiles  of  the 
liocky  Mountains  to  Avaters  which  flow  south 
into  the  Pacific. 

"Good-bye,  ban  voyiujey''  and  we  went  our 
different  ways ;  he  towards  Red  River,  I  for 
Athabasca  and  the  Peace  River. 

And  now,  as  I  have  said,  the  end  of  Janu- 
ary had  come,  and  it  was  time  to  start;  all 
my  preparations  Avere  completed,  Cerf-vola 
and  his  companions  were  fat,  strong,  and 
hearty.  Dog  shoes,  copper  kettles,  a  buffalo 
robe,  a  thermometer,  some  three  or  four 
dozen  rounds  of  ammunition,  a  little  tobacco 
and  pain-killer,  a  dial  compass,  a  pedometer, 
snow  shoes,  about  fifteen  pounds  of  baggage, 
tea,  sugar,  a  little  flour,  and  lastly,  the  in- 
evitable pemmican ;  all  were  put  together, 
and  I  only  waited  the  arrival  of  the  winter 
packet  from  the  south  to  set  out. 

Let  me  see  if  I  can  convey  to  the  reader's 
mind  a  notion  of  this  winter  packet. 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  month  of  De- 
cember there  is  unusual  bustle  in  the  office 
of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  at  Fort  Garry 
7t> 


TPIE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

oil  tlie  Red  River;  the  winter  packet  is  being 
made  ready.  Two  oblong  boxes  are  iilled 
with  letters  and  papers  addressed  to  nine 
different  districts  of  the  northern  continent. 
The  limited  term  district  is  a  singularly  un- 
appropriate  one ;  a  single  instance  will  suffice. 
From  the  post  of  the  Forks  of  the  Athabasca 
and  Clear  Water  Rivers  to  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tain Portage  is  fully  900  miles  as  a  man  can 
travel,  yet  all  that  distance  lies  within  the 
limits  of  the  single  Athabasca  district;  and 
there  are  others  larger  still.  From  the  Fort 
Resolution  on  the  Slave  River  to  the  ram- 
parts on  the  Upper  Yukon,  1,100  miles  lay 
their  lengths  within  the  limits  of  the  Mac- 
kenzie River  district. 

Just  as  the  days  are  at  their  shortest,  a 
dog  sled  bearing  the  winter  packet  starts 
from  Fort  Garry;  a  man  walks  behind  it, 
another  man  some  distance  in  advance  of  the 
dogs.  It  holds  its  way  down  the  Red  River 
to  Lake  Winnipeg;  in  about  nine  days' 
travel  it  crosses  that  lake  to  the  north  shore 
at  Norway  House ;  from  thence,  lessened  of 
its  packet  of  letters  for  the  Bay  of  Hudson 
and  the  distant  Churchill,  it  journeys  in 
twenty  days'  travel  up  the  Great  Saskatche- 
wan River  to  Carlton  House.  Here  it  under- 
goes a  complete  readjustment ;  the  Saskatche- 
wan and  Lesser  Slave  Lake  letters  are 
detached  from  it,  and  about  the  1st  of  Feb- 
77 


THE  AVILD   NORTH   LAND. 

ruaiy  it  starts  ou  its  long  journey  to  the 
north. 

During  the  succeeding  months  it  holds 
steadily  along  its  northern  way,  sending  off 
at  long,  long  intervals  branch  dog  packets  to 
right  and  left;  finally,  just  as  the  sunshine 
of  mid-May  is  beginning  to  carry  a  faint 
whisper  of  tlie  coming  spring  to  the  valleys 
of  the  Upper  Yukon,  the  dog  train,  last  of 
many,  drags  the  packet,  now  but  a  tiny  bun- 
dle, into  the  enclosure  of  La  Pierre's  House. 
It  has  travelled,  nearly  3,000  miles;  a  score 
of  different  dog  teams  have  hauled  it,  and  it 
has  camped  for  more  than  a  hundred  nights 
in  the  great  northern  forest. 

The  end  of  January  had  come,  but  con- 
trary to  the  experience  of  several  years,  had 
brought  no  packet  from  Fort  Garry,  and 
many  were  the  surmises  afloat  as  to  the 
cause  of  this  delay.  The  old  Swampy  Indian 
Adam  who,  for  more  than  a  score  of  years 
had  driven  the  dog  packet,  had  tumbled  into 
a  water-hole  in  the  ice,  and  his  dogs  had 
literally  exemplified  one  portion  of  the  popu- 
lar saying  of  following  their  leader  through 
fire  and  water;  and  the  packet,  Adam,  and 
the  dogs,  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  Saskatche- 
wan River.  Such  was  one  anticipated  cause 
of  this  non-appearance. 

To  many  persons  the  delay  was  very  vexa- 
tious, but  to  me  it  was  something  more. 
78 


THE  WILH   NOIITIT   LAND. 

Time  was  a  precious  article :  it  is  true  a 
uortheru  winter  is  a  long  one,  but  so  also  was 
the  route  I  was  about  to  follow,  and  I  hojjed 
to  reach  the  upper  regions  of  the  Eoeky 
Mountains  while  winter  yet  held  with  icy 
grasp  the  waters  of  the  Peace  River  Canon. 

The  beginning  of  February  came,  and  I 
could  wait  no  longer  for  the  missing  packet. 
On  the  3rd,  at  mid-day,  I  set  out  on  my 
journey.  The  day  ^vas  bright  and  beautiful, 
the  dogs  climbed  defiantly  the  steep  high 
point,  and  we  paused  a  moment  on  the  sum- 
mit ;  beneath  lay  hut  and  pine  wood  and  pre- 
cipitous bank,  all  sparkling  with  snow  and 
sunshine ;  and  beyond,  standing  motionless 
and  silent,  rose  the  Great  Sub-Arctic  Forest. 


79 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  Tale  of  Warfare — Dog-sleds — A  ]Missing  Link — 
Tlic  North  Sea — "AViuterers" — Samuel  Hearne. 

During  the  three  months  which  had 
elapsed  since  liis  arrival  at  the  Forks,  Cerf- 
vola  had  led  an  idle  life;  he  had  led  his 
train  occasionally  to  Fort  A  la  Corne,  or 
hauled  a  light  sled  along  the  ice  of  the  frozen 
rivers,  but  these  were  only  desultory  trips, 
and  his  days  had  usually  passed  in  peace  and 
plenty 

Perhaps  I  am  wrong  in  saying  peace,  for 
the  introduction  of  several  strange  dogs  had 
occasioned  much  warfare,  and  although  he 
had  invariably  managed  to  come  off  victori- 
ous, victory  was  not  obtained  without  some 
loss.  I  have  before  remarked  that  he  pos- 
sessed a  very  large  bushy  tail.  In  time  of 
war  this  appendage  was  carried  prominently 
over  his  back,  something  after  the  manner  of 
the  plumes  upon  casque  of  knight  in  olden 
times,  or  the  more  modern  helmet  of  dragoon 
in  the  era  of  the  Peninsular  War. 

One  day,  while  he  was  engaged  in  a  des- 
perate struggle  with  a  bumptious  new-comer, 
a  large  ill-conditioned  mongrel  which  had 
80 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

iilready  been  vanquished,  seeing  his  victor 
fully  occupied,  deemed  it  an  auspicious  mo- 
ment for  revenge,  and  springing  upon  the 
bushy  tail  proceeded  to  attack  it  with  might 
and  main.  The  unusual  noise  brought  me  to 
the  door  in  time  to  separate  the  combatants 
while  yet  the  tail  was  intact,  but  so  unlocked 
for  had  been  the  assault  that  it  was  found 
upon  examination  to  be  considerably  injured. 
With  the  aid  of  a  needle  and  thread  it  was 
repaired  as  best  we  could,  Cerf-vola  appar- 
ently understanding  what  the  surgical  opera- 
tion meant,  for  although  he  indulged  in 
plenty  of  uproar  at  every  stitch,  no  attempt 
at  biting  was  made  by  him.  He  was  now, 
however,  sound  in  body  and  in  tail,  and  he 
tugged  away  at  his  load  in  blissful  ignorance 
that  1,500  miles  of  labour  lay  before  him. 

I  know  not  if  my  readers  are  acquainted 
with  the  manner  in  which  dogs  are  used  as 
draught  animals  in  the  great  fur  regions  of 
the  North.  A  dog  sled  is  simply  two  thin 
oak  or  birchwood  boards  lashed  together  with 
deer-skin  thongs :  turned  up  in  front  like  a 
Norwegian  snowshoe,  it  runs  when  light  over 
hard  snow  or  ice  with  great  ease ;  its  length 
is  about  nine  feet,  its  breadth  sixteen  inches. 
Along  its  outer  edges  runs  a  leather  lashing, 
through  the  loops  of  which  a  long  leather 
line  is  passed,  to  hold  in  its  place  whatever 
may  be  placed  ujjon  it.  From  the  front,  close 
6  81 


THE  WTT.D  XORTn  LAND. 

to  the  turned  ])ortion,  tlie  traees  for  drauglit 
are  attaclied.  The  dogs,  usually  four  in  luini- 
ber,  stand  in  tandem  fashion,  one  before  the 
other,  the  best  dog  generally  being  ])laeed  in 
front,  as  "foregoer,"  the  next  best  in  rear  as 
"  steer-dog. "  It  is  the  business  of  the  fore- 
goer  to  keep  the  track,  however  faint  it  may 
be,  on  lake  or  river.  The  steer  dog  guides  the 
sled,  and  prevents  it.  from  striking  or  catch- 
ing in  tree  or  root.  An  ordinary  load  for 
four  dogs  weighs  from  2  to  400  lbs. ;  laden 
with  200  lbs.,  dogs  will  travel  on  anything 
like  a  good  track,  or  on  hard  snow,  about 
thirty  or  thirty-live  miles  in  each  da3^  In 
deep  or  soft  snow  the  pace  is  of  necessity 
slow,  and  twenty  to  twenty-tive  miles  will 
form  a  fair  day's  work. 

If  any  one  should  ask  what  length  of  time 
dogs  will  thus  travel  day  after  day,  I  refer 
them  to  the  following  chapters,  wherein  the 
fortunes  of  Cerf-vola  and  his  brethren,  start- 
ing out  to-day  on  a  long  journey,  are  duly 
set  forth. 

Some  feAV  miles  west  of  the  mission  station 
called  Prince  Albert  I  parted  from  my  friend 

Captain  M ,  Avho  thus  far  had  accomi)a- 

nied  me.  He  was  to  return  to  Red  River 
and  Canada,  via  Cumberland  and  the  lakes, 
I  to  hold  my  way  across  the  frozen  continent 
to  the  Pacific.  For  many  months  each  day 
would  place  a  double  day's  distance  between 
«3 


THE  WILD  NOirni    LAND. 

us,  but  wo  still  looked  forward  to  anotlier 
meeting,  even  though  between  us  and  tliat 
})rospeet  there  lay  the  breadth  of  all  the  sav- 
age continent. 

A  couple  of  days  later  I  reached  the  Ihul- 
soii's  Bay  Company's  fort  of  Carlton,  the 
great  rendezvous  of  the  winter  packets  be- 
tween north  and  south.  From  north  and 
west  several  of  the  leading  agents  of  the  fur 
company  had  assembled  at  Carlton  to  await 
the  coming  of  the  packet  bearing  news  from 
the  outer  world.  From  Fort  Simpson  on  the 
far  jNlackenzie,  from  Fort  Chipewyan  on  the 
lonely  lake  Athabasca,  from  Edmonton  on 
the  Upper  Saskatchewan,  from  Isle  a  la 
Crosse,  dogs  had  drawn  the  masters  of  these 
remote  establishnients  to  the  central  station 
on  the  middle  Saskatchewan.  But  they 
waited  in  vain  for  the  arrival  of  the  packet ; 
with  singular  punctuality  had  their  various 
trains  arrived  within  a  few  days  of  each  other 
from  starting-points  2,000  miles  apart;  yet 
after  a  few  days'  detention  these  officers  felt 
anxious  to  set  out  once  more  on  their  journey, 
and  many  a  time  the  hillside  on  which  the 
packet  must  first  appear  was  scanned  by 
watchers,  and  all  the  boasted  second  sight 
and  conjuring  power  of  haggard  squaw  and 
medicine  man  was  set  at  Avork  to  discover  the 
whereabouts  of  the  "  missing  link  "  between 
the  realms  of  civilization  and  savagery.  To 
83 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAXD. 

me  the  delay,  except  for  the  exigencies  of 
time  and  distance,  was  not  irksome.  I  was 
in  the  society  of  gentlemen  whose  lives  liad 
been  passed  in  all  portions  of  the  great  north, 
on  the  frozen  shores  of  Hudson's  Bay,  in  the 
mountain  fastnesses  of  the  Chipewyan  range, 
or  midst  the  savage  solitudes  that  lie  where, 
in  long,  low-lying  capes,  and  ice-piled  prom- 
ontories, the  shore  of  America  stretches  out 
to  meet  the  Avaves  of  the  Northern  Ocean. 

There  was  one  present  who  in  the  past 
seven  months  had  travelled  by  horse  and 
canoe,  boat  and  dog  train,  full  4,000  miles; 
and  another,  destined  to  be  my  close  com- 
panion during  many  weeks,  whose  matchless 
determination  and  power  of  endurance  had 
carried  him  in  a  single  winter  from  the  Lower 
Mackenzie  Kiver  to  the  banks  of  the  Missis- 
sippi. 

Here,  while  we  await  the  winter  packet, 
let  me  sketch  with  hasty  and  imperfect  touch 
the  lives  of  those  who,  as  the  "  winterers  "  of 
the  great  Company  of  Adventurers  trading 
into  Hudson's  Bay,  have  made  their  homes 
in  the  wilderness. 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-two  years  ago,  a 
French  adventurer  under  the  banner  of 
Samuel  de  Champlain  wintered  with  an  In- 
dian tribe  on  the  shores  of  the  Upper  Ottawa. 
In  the  ensuing  spring  he  returned  to  Mont- 
real, recounted  his  adventures,  and  became 
84 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

the  hero  of  an  hour.  Beyond  the  country  of 
the  Ottawas  he  described  a  vast  region,  and 
from  the  uttermost  sources  of  the  Ottawa  a 
large  river  ran  towards  the  north  until  it 
ended  in  the  North  Sea.  He  had  been  there, 
he  said,  and  on  the  shore  lay  the  ribs  of  an 
English  vessel  wrecked,  and  the  skeletons  of 
English  sailors  who  had  been  drowned  or 
murdered.  His  story  was  a  false  one,  and 
ere  a  year  had  passed  he  confessed  his  du- 
plicity ;  he  had  not  been  near  the  North  Sea, 
nor  had  he  seen  aught  that  he  described. 

Yet  was  there  even  more  than  a  germ  of 
truth  in  his  tale  of  wreck  and  disaster,  for 
just  one  year  earlier  in  the  same  North  Sea, 
a  brave  English  sailor  had  been  set  adrift  in 
an  open  boat,  with  half  a  dozen  faithful  sea- 
men; and  of  all  the  dark  mysteries  of  the 
merciless  ocean,  no  mystery  lies  wrapt  in 
dee})er  shadow  than  that  which  hangs  over 
the  fate  of  Hudson. 

But  the  seventeenth  century  was  not  an 
age  when  wreck  or  ruin  could  daunt  the  spirit 
of  discovery.  Here  in  this  lonely  North 
Sea,  the  palm  of  adventure  belonged  not  to 
France  alone.  Spain  might  overrun  the  rich 
regions  of  the  tropics,  Richelieu  (prototype 
of  the  great  German  chancellor  of  to-day) 
might  plant  the  fleiii'-de-Us  along  the  mighty 
St.  Lawrence,  but  the  north — the  frozen 
north — must  be  the  land  of  English  enter- 
85 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

prise  and  English  daring.  The  years  that  fol- 
lowed the  casting  away  of  the  fearless  Hud- 
son saw  strange  vessels  coasting  the  misty 
shores  of  that  weird  sea;  at  lirst,  to  seek 
through  its  bergs  and  ice  floes,  its  dreary 
cloud-wrapt  fiords  and  inlets,  a  passage  to 
the  land  where  ceaseless  sunshine  glinted  on 
the  spice-scented  shores  of  fabulous  Cathay ; 
and  later  on,  to  trade  with  the  savages  who 
clad  themselves  in  skins,  which  the  fairest 
favourites  of  Whitehall  or  the  Louvre  (by  a 
strange  extreme  wherein  savagery  joined 
hands  with  civilization)  would  be  proud  to 
wrap  round  their  snoAvy  shoulders. 

Prosecuted  at  first  by  desultory  and  chance 
adventurers,  this  trade  in  furs  soon  took  defi- 
nite form  and  became  a  branch  of  commerce. 
On  the  lonely  seashores  wooden  buildings 
rose  along  the  estuaries  of  rivers  flowing  from 
an  unknown  land.  These  were  honoured  by 
the  title  of  fort  or  factory,  and  then  the  ships 
sailed  back  to  England  ere  the  autumn  ice 
had  closed  upon  the  waters ;  while  behind  in 
Eupert's  Fort,  York  Factory,  Churchill,  or 
Albany  (names  which  tell  the  political  his- 
tory of  their  day),  stayed  the  agents,  or 
"winterers,"  whose  Avork  it  was  to  face  for  a 
long  season  of  hardship,  famine,  and  disease, 
a  climate  so  rigorous  that  not  unfrequently, 
wlien  the  returning  vessel  rose  upon  the  dis- 
tant sea  line,  scarce  half  the  eyes  that  had 
«6 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

seen  her  vanish  were  tlieie  to  watch  her  re- 
turn. And  they  had  other  foes  to  contend 
with.  (Jver  the  height  of  land,  away  by  the 
great  lakes,  and  along  the  forest  shores  of 
the  St.  Lawrence,  the  adventurers  of  another 
nation  had  long  been  busy  at  the  mingled 
work  of  conc^uest  and  traffic.  The  rival  Sul- 
tans of  France  and  England  could,  midst  the 
more  pressing  cares  of  their  respective  ha- 
rems, find  time  occasionallj^  to  scribble 
"  Henri "  or  "  Charles  "  at  the  foot  of  a  parch- 
ment scroll  which  gave  a  continent  to  a  com- 
pany; it  little  mattered  whether  Spaniard, 
Frenchman  or  Briton  had  first  bestowed  the 
gift,  the  rival  claimants  might  light  for  the 
possession  as  they  pleased.  The  geography 
of  this  Kew  World  was  uncertain,  and  where 
Florida  ended  or  Canada  began  was  not  mat- 
ter of  much  consequence.  lUit  the  great  car- 
dinal, like  the  great  chancellor,  was  not  likely 
to  err  in  the  matter  of  boundaries.  "  If 
there  should  be  any  doubt  about  the  parts, 
we  can  take  the  whole,"  was  probably  as 
good  a  maxim  then  as  now  ;  and  accordingly 
we  find  at  one  sweep  the  whole  northern  con- 
tinent, from  Florida  to  the  Arctic  Circle, 
handed  over  to  a  company  of  which  the 
priest-soldier  was  the  moving  spirit. 

Tlius  began  the  long  strife  between  France 
and  England    in    North    America — a   strife 
which  ended  only  under  the  walls  of  Quebec. 
«7 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

The  story  of  their  bravery,  their  endurance, 
their  constancy,  their  heroism,  has  been 
woven  into  deathless  history  by  a  master- 
hand.'  To  France  belongs  the  glory  of  tlie 
Great  West — not  the  less  her  glory  because 
the  sun  has  set  forever  upon  her  empire. 
Nothing  remains  to  her.  Promontory  or 
lonely  isle,  name  of  sea-washed  cape,  or 
silent  lake,  half  mistily  tells  of  her  former 
dominion.  In  the  deep  recesses  of  some 
north-western  lake  or  river-reach  the  echoes 
still  waken  to  the  notes  of  some  old  French 
chanson,  as  the  half-Indian  voyageur,  igno- 
rant of  all  save  the  sound,  dips  his  glistening 
paddle  to  the  cadence  of  his  song.  But  of 
all  that  Cartier  and  Champlain,  De  Monts, 
La  Salle,  Marquette,  Frontenac,  and  Mont- 
calm lived  and  died  for — nothing  more  re- 
mains. 

Poor  France !  In  the  New  World  and  in 
the  Old  history  owes  thee  much.  Yet  in 
both  hast  thou  paid  the  full  measure  of  thy 
people's  wrong. 

But  to  return.  The  seventeenth  century 
had  not  closed  ere  the  sea  of  Hudson  became 
the  theatre  of  strife,  the  wooden  palisades  of 
the  factories  were  battered  or  burnt  down; 
and  one  fine  day  in  August,  1697,  a  loud 
cannonade  boomed  over  the  sullen  waters, 
and  before  the  long  summer  twilight  had 
'  Fraucis  P^rkman. 
88. 


THE  WILD  XORTII   LAND. 

closed,  the  "Hampshire,"  with  her  fifty-two 
guns  on  high  poop  or  lofty  forecastle,  lay 
deep  beneath  the  icy  sea,  her  consorts  tlie 
Frenchman's  prize.  Nor  had  she  gone  down 
before  a  foe  more  powerful,  but  to  the  single 
frigate  of  Le  Moyne  d' Iberville,  a  child  of 
Old  and  New  France,  the  boldest  rover  that 
e'er  went  forth  upon  the  Northern  Seas. 
Some  fifteen  years  later  France  resigned  her 
claim  to  these  sterile  shores.  Blenheim,  Ra- 
ni ilies,  Oudenarde,  and  Malplaquet  had  given 
to  England  the  sole  possession  of  the  frozen 
North. 

And  now,  for  nigh  seventy  years,  the  Eng- 
lish Company  pursued  unmolested  its  trade 
along  the  coast.  A  strong  fort,  not  of  wood 
and  lath  and  stockade,  but  of  hard  English 
brick  and  native  granite  hewn  by  English 
lumds,  rose  near  the  estuary  of  the  Churchill 
River.  To  this  fort  the  natives  came  annu- 
ally along  the  English  river  bearing  skins 
gathered  far  inland,  along  the  shores  of  the 
Lake  of  the  Hills,  and  the  borders  of  the 
great  river  of  the  nortli. 

With  these  natives  wandered  back  an  Eng- 
lishman named  Samuel  Hearne ;  he  reached 
the  Lake  Athabasca,  and  on  all  sides  he 
heard  of  large  rivers,  some  coming  from  south 
and  west,  others  flowing  to  the  remotest 
north.  He  Avandered  on  from  tribe  to  tribe, 
reached  a  great  lake,  descended  a  great  river 
89 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LxiND. 

to  the  north,  and  saw  at  last  the  Arctic 
Sea. 

Slowly  did  the  Fur  Company  establish  it- 
self in  the  interior.  It  was  easier  to  let  the 
nativ^es  bring  down  the  rich  furs  to  the  coast 
than  to  seek  them  in  these  friendless  regions. 
But  at  last  a  subtle  rival  appeared  on  the 
scene ;  the  story  of  the  North -AVest  Fur  Com- 
pany has  often  been  told,  and  in  another 
place  we  have  painted  the  effects  of  that  con- 
flict ;  here  it  is  enough  to  say  that  when  in 
1822  the  north-west  became  merged  into  the 
older  corporation,  posts  or  forts  had  been 
scattered  throughout  the  entire  continent, 
and  that  henceforth  from  Oregon  to  Ungava, 
from  Mingan  to  the  Mackenzie,  the  countless 
tribes  knew  but  one  lord  and  master,  the 
Company  of  Adventurers  from  England  trad- 
ing into  Hudson's  I^ay. 

What  in  the  meantime  was  the  work  of 
those  wintering  agents  whose  homes  Avere 
made  in  the  wilderness?  God  knows  their 
lives  were  liard.  They  came  generally  from 
the  remote  isles  or  higlilands  of  Scotland, 
they  left  home  young,  and  the  mind  tires 
when  it  thinks  upon  the  remoteness  of  many 
of  their  fur  stations.  Dreary  and  monotonous 
beyond  words  was  their  home  life,  and  hard- 
ship was  its  rule.  To  travel  on  foot  1,000 
miles  in  winter's  darkest  time,  to  live  upon 
the  coarsest  food,  to  see  nought  of  bread  or 
90 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

sugar  for  long  months,  to  lie  down  at  night 
under  the  freezing  branches,  to  feel  cold  such 
as  Englishmen  in  England  cannot  even  com- 
prehend, often  to  starve,  always  to  dwell  in 
exile  from  the  great  world.  Such  was  the 
routine  of  their  lives.  The  names  of  these 
northern  posts  tell  the  story  of  their  toil. 
"Resolution,"  "Providence,"  "Good  Hope," 
"Enterprise,"  "Keliance,"  "Confidence;" 
such  were  the  titles  given  to  these  little  forts 
on  the  distant  Mackenzie,  or  the  desolate 
shores  of  the  Great  Slave  Lake.  Who  can 
tell  what  memories  of  early  days  in  the  far 
away  Scottish  isles,  or  Highland  glen,  must 
have  come  to  these  men  as  the  tempest  swept 
the  stunted  pine-forest,  and  wrack  and  drift 
hurled  across  the  frozen  lake — when  the 
dawn  and  the  dusk,  separated  by  only  a  few 
hours'  day-light,  closed  into  the  long,  dark 
night.  Perchance  the  savage  scene  was  lost 
in  a  dreamy  vision  of  some  lonely  Scottish 
loch,  some  Druid  mound  in  far  away  Lewis, 
some  vista  of  a  fireside,  when  storm  howled 
and  waves  ran  high  upon  the  beach  of  Storno- 
way. 


n 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  Dog  of  No  Character — The  Green  Lake — Lac  He  a 
la  Crosse — A  Cold  Day — Fort  He  a  la  Crosse — 
A  Long-lost  Brother — Lost  upon  the  Lake — Un- 
welcome Neighbours — Mr.  Roderick  Macfarlaue 
—"A  Beautiful  Morning" — Marble  Features. 

On  the  night  of  the  11th  of  February, 
under  a  brilliant  moonlight,  we  quitted  Fort 
Carltou;  crossing  the  Saskatchewan,  we 
climbed  the  steep  northern  bank,  and  paused 
a  moment  to  look  back.  The  moon  was  at 
its  full,  not  a  cloud  slept  in  the  vast  blue 
vault  of  heaven,  a  great  planet  burned  in  the 
western  sky ;  the  river  lay  beneath  in  spot- 
less lustre ;  shore  and  prairie,  ridge  and  low- 
land, si)arkled  in  the  sheen  of  snow  and 
moonlight.  Then  I  sprung  u])on  my  sled, 
aud  followed  the  others,  for  tlie  music  of 
their  dog-bells  was  already  getting  faint. 

The  two  foHowiug  days  saw  us  journeying 
on  through  a  rich  and  fertile  land.  Clumps 
of  poplar  interspersed  with  pine,  dotted  the 
undulating  surface  of  the  country.  Lakes 
were  numerous,  and  the  yellow  grass  along 
their  margins  still  showed  above  the  deep 
snow. 

Six  trains  of  dogs,  twenty-three  dogs  in  all, 
93 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND, 

made  a  goodly  show ;  the  northern  ones  all 
beaded,  belled,  and  ribboned,  were  mostly 
large  powerful  animals.  Cree,  French,  and 
English  names  were  curiously  intermixed, 
and  as  varied  were  the  tongues  used  to  urge 
the  trains  to  fresh  exertions.  Sometimes  a 
dog  would  be  abused,  vilified,  and  cursed,  in 
French  alone;  at  others,  he  would  be  im- 
plored, in  Cree,  to  put  forth  greater  efforts. 
"  Kuskey-taj-o-atim-moos,"  or  the  little 
"  black  dog  "  would  be  appealed  to,  "  for  the 
love  of  Heaven  to  haul  his  traces."  He 
would  be  solemnly  informed  that  he  was  a 
dog  of  no  character ;  that  he  was  the  child  of 
very  disreputable  parents;  that,  in  fact,  his 
mother  had  been  no  better  than  she  should 
have  been.  Generally  speaking,  this  infor- 
mation did  not  appear  to  have  much  effect 
upon  Kuskey-tay-o-atim-moos,  who  was 
doubtless  well  satisfied  if  the  abuse  hurled 
at  him  and  his  progenitors  exhausted  the  ire 
of  his  driver,  and  saved  his  back  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  relations. 

Four  days  of  rapid  travelling  carried  us 
far  to  the  north.  Early  on  the  third  day  of 
travel  the  open  country  with  its  lakelets  and 
poplar  ridges,  was  left  behind,  and  the  forest 
region  entered  upon  for  the  first  time. 

Day  had  not  yet  dawned  when  we  quitted 
a  deserted  hut  which  had  given  us  shelter  for 
the  night ;  a  succession  of  steep  hills  rose  be- 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

fore  lis;  and  when  the  highest  had  been 
gained,  the  dawn  had  In-oken  upon  the  dull 
grey  landscape.  Before  us  the  great  Sub- 
Arctic  Forest  stretched  away  to  the  north,  a 
line  of  lakes,  its  rampart  of  defence  against 
the  wasting  fires  of  the  prairie  region,  lay  be- 
neath. This  was  the  southern  limit  of  that 
vast  forest  whose  northern  extreme  must  be 
sought  where  the  waters  of  the  Mackenzie 
mingle  with  the  waves  of  the  Arctic  Sea. 

We  entered  this  forest,  and  in  four  days 
reached  the  southern  end  of  the  Green  Lake, 
a  long  narrow  sheet  of  water  of  great  depth. 
The  dogs  went  briskly  over  the  hard  snow  on 
the  surface  of  the  ice-covered  lake,  and  ere 
sun  set  on  the  15th  of  February  we  were 
housed  in  the  little  Hudson's  Bay  post,  near 
the  northern  extremity  of  the  lake.  We  had 
run  about  150  miles  in  four  days. 

A  little  more  than  midway  between  Carl- 
ton and  Green  Lake,  the  traveller  crosses  the 
height  of  land  between  the  Saskatchewan 
and  Beav^er  Eivers;  its  elevation  is  about 
1,700  feet  above  the  sea  level,  but  the  rise 
on  either  side  is  barely  perceptible,  and  be- 
tween the  wooded  hills,  a  network  of  lakes 
linked  together  by  swamps  and  muskegs 
spreads  in  every  direction.  These  lakes 
abound  with  the  finest  fish;  the  woods  are 
fairly  stocked  with  fur-bearing  animals,  and 
the  country  is  in  many  respects  fitted  to  be 
94 


THE  WII.D  NORTH  LAND. 

made  the  scene  of  Indian  settlement,  upon  a 
plan  not  yet  attempted  by  Ameiioan  ov  Cana- 
dian governments  in  their  dealings  with  the 
red  man. 

On  the  morning  of  the  17th  of  February 
we  quitted  the  Green  Lake,  and  continued  on 
cur  northern  Avay.  Early  on  the  day  of  de- 
partiire  we  struck  the  Beaver  or  Upper 
Churchill  River,  and  followed  its  winding 
course  for  some  forty  miles.  Tlie  shores 
were  well  wooded  with  white  spruce,  juni])er, 
and  birch ;  the  banks,  some  ten  or  twenty 
feet  above  the  surface  of  the  ice,  sloped  easily 
back ;  while  at  every  ten  or  fifteen  miles 
smaller  streams  sought  the  main  river,  and 
at  each  accession  the  bed  of  the  channel 
nearly  doubled  in  width. 

Hitlierto  I  had  not  spoken  of  the  cold ;  the 
snow  lay  deep  upon  the  ground,  but  so  far 
the  days  had  been  fine,  and  tlie  nights, 
though  of  course  cold,  were  by  no  means  ex- 
cessively so.  The  morning  of  the  19th  of  Feb- 
ruary found  us  camped  on  a  pine  ridge,  be- 
tween lakes,  about  fifteen  miles  south  of  Lac 
He  a  la  Crosse,  by  the  spot  where  an  ox  liad 
perished  of  starvation  during  the  ])revious 
autumn,  his  bones  now  furnishing  a  niglit- 
long  repast  for  our  hungry  dogs.  The  night 
had  been  very  cold,  and  despite  of  blanket 
or  buffalo  robe  it  was  impossible  to  remain 
long  asleep.  It  may  seem  strange  to  those 
95 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

who  live  in  warm  houses,  who  sleep  in  cosy 
rooms  from  which  the  draught  is  carefully 
excluded,  and  to  whom  the  notion  of  seeking 
one's  rest  on  the  ground,  under  a  jDine  tree 
in  mid-winter,  Avould  appear  eminently  sui- 
cidal ;  it  may  seem  strange,  I  say,  how  in  a 
climate  where  cold  is  measured  by  degrees 
as  much  below  the  freezing  point  as  the  hot- 
test shade  heat  of  Carnatic  or  Scindian  sum- 
mer is  known  to  be  nboce  it,  that  men  should 
be  able  at  the  close  of  a  hard  day's  march  to 
lie  down  to  rest  under  the  open  heavens. 
Yet  so  it  is. 

When  the  light  begins  to  fade  over  the 
frozen  solitude,  and  the  first  melancholy  hoot 
of  the  night  owl  is  heard,  the  traveller  in  the 
north  looks  around  him  for  "  a  good  camping- 
place."  In  the  forest  country  he  has  not 
long  to  seek  for  it ;  a  few  dead  trees  for  fuel, 
a  level  space  for  his  fire  and  his  blanket, 
some  green  young  pines  to  give  him  "  brush  " 
for  his  bed,  and  all  his  requirements  are  su^j- 
plied.  The  camp  is  soon  made,  the  fire 
lighted,  the  kettle  filled  with  snow  and  set 
to  boil,  the  supper  finished,  dogs  fed,  and  the 
blankets  spread  out  over  the  pine  brush.  It 
is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  there  is  not 
much  time  lost  in  the  operation  of  undress- 
ing; under  the  circumstances  one  is  more 
likely  to  reverse  the  process,  and  literally 
(not  figuratively  as  in  the  ease  of  modern  so- 
96 


TITE    WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

ciety,  preparing  for  lior  l)all)  to  (/n'ss  for  tlu- 
iiiglit.  Then  begins  the  cold ;  it  has  been 
bitterly  eold  all  day,  v.itli  tlarkness;  the 
wind  has  lulled,  and  the  frost  has  eonie  out 
of  the  cold,  gre}^  sky  with  still,  silent  rigour. 
If  you  have  a  thermometer  placed  in  the 
snow  at  your  head  the  spirit  will  have 
shrunken  back  into  the  twenties  and  thirties 
below  zero;  and  just  when  the  dawn  is  steal- 
ing over  the  eastern  pine  tops  it  will  not  un- 
frequently  he  into  the  forties.  "Well  then, 
that  is  cold  if  you  like !  You  are  tired  by  a 
thirty-mile  march  on  snow-shoes.  You  have 
lain  down  with  stiffened  limbs  and  blistered 
feet,  and  sleep  comes  to  you  by  the  mere 
force  of  your  fatigue ;  but  never  goes  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  cold  from  your  waking 
brain ;  and  as  you  lie  with  crossed  arms  and 
up-gathered  knees  beneath  your  buffalo  robe, 
you  welcome  as  a  benefactor  any  short-haired^ 
shivering  dog  who  may  be  forced  from  his 
lair  in  the  snow  to  seek  a  few  hours'  sleep 
upon  the  outside  of  your  blankets. 

Yet  do  not  imagine,  reader,  that  all  this  is 
next  to  an  impossibility,  that  men  will  perish 
under  many  nights  of  it.  Men  do  not  perish 
thus  easily.  Nay  even,  when  before  daAvn 
the  fire  has  been  set  alight,  and  the  tea  swal- 
lowed hot  and  strong,  the  whole  thing  is 
nigh  forgotten,  not  unfrequently  forgotten  in 
the  anticipations  of  a  cold  still  more  try- 
7  97 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAXD. 

ing  ill  tlie  day's  jouiiicy  which  is  before 
you. 

Such  was  the  case  now.  We  had  slept 
coldly,  and  ere  daylight  the  thermometer 
showed  32  degrees  below  zero.  A  strong 
wind  swept  through  the  fir-trees  from  the 
north ;  at  daylight  the  wind  lulled,  but  every 
one  seemed  to  anticipate  a  bad  day,  and 
leather  coats  and  capotes  were  all  in  use. 

We  set  oif  at  six  o'clock.  For  a  time 
calmness  reigned,  but  at  sunrise  the  north 
wind  sprang  up  again,  and  the  cold  soon  be- 
came more  than  one  could  bear.  Before 
mid-day  we  reached  the  southern  end  of  Lac 
He  a  la  Crosse ;  before  us  to  the  north  lay 
nearly  thirty  miles  of  shelterless  lake,  and 
down  this  great  stretch  of  ice  the  wind  came 
with  merciless  severity. 

We  made  a  fire,  drank  a  great  deal  of  hot 
tea,  muffled  up  as  best  we  could  and  put  out 
into  the  lake.  All  that  day  I  had  been  ill, 
and  with  no  little  difficulty  had  managed  to 
keep  up  with  the  party.  I  do  not  think  that 
I  had,  in  the  experience  of  many  bitter  days 
of  travel,  ever  felt  such  cold ;  but  I  attrib- 
uted this  to  illness  more  than  to  the  day's 
severity. 

We  held  on ;  right  in  our  teeth  blew  the 

bitter  blast,  the  dogs    Avith  low-bent  heads 

tugged  steadily  onward,  the  half-breeds  and 

Indians  wrapped  their  blankets  round  their 

98 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

heads,  ami  l)i'iKliiigl'(jr\v;ir(l  as  tlicy  ran  made 
their  way  against  the  Avind.  To  run  was  in- 
stantly to  freeze  one's  face;  to  lie  on  the  sled 
was  to  chill  through  the  body  to  the  very 
marrow.  It  was  impossible  to  face  it  long, 
and  again  we  put  in  to  shore,  made  a  lire, 
and  boiled  some  tea. 

At  mid-day  the  sun  shone,  and  the  ther- 
mometer stood  at  26°  below  zero;  the  sun 
was  utterly  powerless  to  make  itself  felt  in 
the  slightest  degree ;  a  drift  of  dry  snow  flew 
before  the  bitter  Avind.  Was  this  really 
great  cold?  I  often  asked  myself.  I  had 
not  long  to  wait  for  an  answer.  My  two  fel- 
low-travellers were  perhaps  of  all  men  in 
those  regions  best  able  to  settle  a  question  of 
cold.  One  had  spent  nigh  thirty  years  in 
many  parts  of  the  Continent ;  the  other  had 
dwelt  for  years  within  the  Arctic  Circle,  and 
had  travelled  the  shores  of  the  Arctic  Ocean 
at  a  time  when  the  Esquimaux  keep  close 
within  their  greasy  snow  huts.  Both  were 
renowned  travellers  in  a  land  where  bad  trav- 
ellers were  unknown :  tlie  testimony  of  such 
men  was  conclusive,  and  for  years  they  had 
not  known  so  cold  a  day. 

"  I  doubt  if  I  have  ever  felt  greater  cold 
than  this,  even  on  the  Anderson  or  the 
Mackenzie,"  said  the  man  who  was  so  well 
acquainted  with  winter  hardship.  After  that 
1  did  not  care  so  much ;  if  they  felt  it  cold,  if 
99 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

tlieii'  cheeks  grew  white  and  hard  in  tlie 
bitter  blast,  surely  1  could  afford  to  freeze 
half  my  face  and  all  my  fingers  to  boot. 

Yet  at  the  time  it  was  no  laughing  matter; 
to  look  forward  to  an  hour  seemed  an  infinity 
of  pain.  One  rubbed  and  rubbed  away  at 
solid  nose  and  white  cheek,  but  that  only 
added  one's  fingers  to  the  list  of  iced  things 
one  had  to  carry. 

At  last  the  sun  began  to  decline  to  the 
west,  the  wind  fell  with  it,  the  thick,  low- 
lying  drift  disappeared,  and  it  was  possible 
by  running  hard  to  restore  the  circulation. 
With  dusk  came  a  magnificent  Aurora;  the 
sheeted  light  quivered  over  the  frozen  lake 
like  fleecy  clouds  of  many  colours  blown 
across  the  stars.  Night  had  long  closed 
when  we  reached  the  warm  shelter  of  the 
shore,  and  saw  the  welcome  lights  of  houses 
in  the  gloom.  Dogs  barked,  bolts  rattled, 
men  and  children  issued  from  the  snow-cov- 
ered huts ;  and  at  the  door  of  his  house  stood 
my  kind  fellow-traveller,  the  chief  factor  of 
the  district,  waiting  to  welcome  me  to  his 
fort  of  He  a  la  Crosse. 

The  fort  of  He  a  la  Crosse  is  a  solitary 
spot.  Behind  it  spreads  a  land  of  worthless 
forest,  a  region  abounding  in  swamps  and 
muskegs,  in  front  the  long  arms  of  the  Cruci- 
form Lake.  It  is  not  from  its  shape  that  the 
lake  bears  its  name ;  in  the  centre,  where  the 
100 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

four  long  arms  meet,  stands  an  island,  on  tlie 
open  shore  of  which  the  Indians  in  bygone 
times  Avere  wont  to  play  their  favourite  game 
of  la  Crosse.  The  game  named  the  island, 
and  the  island  in  turn  gave  its  name  to  the 
lake.  The  Beaver  River  enters  the  lake  at 
the  south-east,  and  leaves  it  again  on  the 
north-west  side.  The  elevation  of  the  lake 
above  the  level  of  Hudson's  Bay  cainiot  be 
less  than  1,300  feet,  so  it  is  little  Avonder  if 
the  wild  winds  of  the  north  should  have  full 
sweep  across  its  frozen  surface.  The  lake  is 
well  stocked  with  excellent  white  fish,  and  by 
the  produce  of  the  net  the  garrison  of  the 
fort  is  kept  wholly  in  food,  about  130  large 
fish  being  daily  consumed  in  it. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  fort  stands 
the  French  Mission.  One  of  the  earliest 
established  in  the  north,  it  has  thrown  out 
many  branches  into  more  remote  solitudes. 
Four  ladies  of  the  order  of  Grey  Nuns  have 
made  their  home  here,  and  their  school  al- 
ready contains  some  thirty  cliildren.  If  one 
wants  to  see  what  can  be  made  of  a  very 
limited  space,  one  should  visit  this  convent  at 
He  a  la  Crosse ;  the  entire  building  is  a  small 
wooden  structure,  yet  school,  dormitory, 
oratory,  kitchen,  and  dining-room  are  all 
contained  therein. 

The  sisters  seemed  happy  and  contented, 
chatted  gaily  of  the  outside  world,  or  of  tlieir 

m 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

far-away  liomes  iu  Lower  Canada.  Their 
present  house  was  only  a  temporary  erection. 
In  one  fell  night  fire  had  destroyed  a  larger 
building,  and  consumed  their  library,  oratory, 
everything ;  and  now  its  ravages  were  being 
slowly  repaired.  Of  course  it  was  an  event 
to  be  long  remembered,  and  the  lady  who  de- 
scribed to  us  the  calamity  seemed  still  to 
feel  the  terror  of  the  moment. 

My  long  journey  left  me  no  time  for  de- 
lay, and  after  one  day's  rest  it  became  neces- 
sary to  resume  the  march.  The  morning  of 
the  21st  February  found  us  again  in  motion. 

We  now  numbered  some  five  sleds;  the 
officer  in  charge  of  the  Athabasca  district, 
the  next  to  the  north,  was  still  to  be  my 
fellow-traveller  for  nearly  400  miles  to  his 
post  of  Fort  Chipewyan.  All  dogs  save 
mine  were  fresh  ones,  but  Cerf-vola  showed 
not  one  sign  of  fatigue,  and  Spanker  was  still 
strong  and  hearty.  Pony  was,  however, 
betraying  every  indication  of  giving  out,  and 
had  long  proved  himself  an  arrant  scoundrel. 

Dogs  were  scarce  in  the  north  this  year. 
A  distemper  had  swept  over  all  the  forts,  and 
many  a  trusty  hauler  had  gone  to  the  land 
where  harness  is  unknown. 

Here,  at  He  a  la  Crosse,  I  obtained  an 
eighth  dog.  This  dog  Avas  Major;  he  was 
an  Esquimau  from  Deer's  Lake,  the  birth- 
place of  Cerf-vola,  and  he  bore  a  very  strong 
10? 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

resemblance  to  my  leader.  It  is  not  unlikely 
that  they  were  closely  related,  perhaps 
brothers,  who  had  thus,  after  many  wander- 
ings, come  together ;  but,  be  that  as  it  may, 
Cerf-vola  treated  his  long-lost  brother  with 
evident  suspicion,  and  continued  to  maintain 
towards  all  outsiders  a  dogged  demeanour. 

Major's  resemblance  to  the  Untiring  led  to 
a  grievous  error  on  the  morning  of  my  de- 
parture from  the  fort. 

It  was  two  hours  before  daylight  when  the 
dogs  were  put  into  harness ;  it  was  a  morning 
of  bitter  cold ;  a  faint  old  moon  hung  in  the 
east ;  over  the  dim  lake,  a  shadowy  Aurora 
flickered  across  the  stars ;  it  was  as  wild  and 
cheerless  a  sight  as  eye  of  mortal  could  look 
upon;  and  the  work  of  getting  the  poor  un- 
willing dogs  into  their  harness  was  done  by 
the  Indians  and  half-breeds  in  no  amiable 
mood. 

In  the  haste  and  darkness  the  Untiring 
was  placed  last  in  the  train  which  he  had 
so  long  led,  the  new-comer,  IVIajor,  getting 
the  foremost  place.  Upon  my  assuming 
charge  of  the  train,  an  ominous  tendency  to 
growl  and  fight  on  the  part  of  my  steer-dog 
told  me  something  was  wrong;  it  was  too 
dark  to  see  plainly,  but  a  touch  of  the  Un- 
tiring's  nose  told  me  that  the  right  dog  was 
in  the  wrong  ])lace. 

The  mistake  Avas  quickly  rectified,  but, 
103 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

nevertheless,  I  fear  its  memory  long  rankled 
in  the  mind  of  Cerf-vola,  for  all  that  day, 
and  for  some  days  after,  he  never  missed 
an  opportunity  of  counter-marching  suddenly 
in  his  harness  and  prostrating  the  unoffend- 
ing Majorat  his  post  of  steer-dog;  the  attack 
was  generally  made  with  so  much  sudden- 
ness and  vigour  that  jNIajor  instantly  capitu- 
lated, "  turning  a  turtle"  in  his  traces.  This 
unlooked-for  assault  was  usually  accompanied 
by  a  flank  movement  on  the  part  of  Spanker, 
who,  whenever  there  was  anything  in  the 
shape  of  fighting  lying  around,  was  sure  to 
have  a  tooth  in  it  on  his  own  account,  being 
never  very  particular  as  to  whether  he  at- 
tacked the  head  of  the  rear  dog  or  the  tail  of 
his  friend  in  front. 

All  this  led  at  times  to  fearful  confusion  in 
my  train  ;  they  jumped  on  one  another;  they 
tangled  traces,  and  back-bands,  and  collar- 
straps  into  sad  knots  and  interlacings,  which 
baffled  my  poor  frozen  fingers  to  unravel. 
Often  have  I  seen  them  in  a  huge  ball  loll- 
ing over  each  other  in  the  snow,  while  the 
rapid  api)lication  of  my  whip  only  appeared 
to  make  matters  worse,  conveying  the  idea  to 
Sjjanker  or  the  Untiring  that  they  were 
being  ])adly  bitten  by  an  unknown  belligerent. 

Like  the  lady  in  Tennyson's  "Princess," 
they  "mouthed  and  muml)led"  each  other  in 
a  very  perplexing  manner,  but,  of  course, 
104 


THE  WILD  XORTir   LAND. 

from  a  cause  totally  at  variance  from  that 
which  influenced  the  matron  in  the  poem. 
These  events  only  occurred,  however,  when 
a  new  dog  was  added  to  the  train  ;  and,  after 
a  day  or  so,  things  got  smoothed  down,  and 
all  tugged  at  the  moose-skin  collars  in  peace- 
ful unanmiity. 

But  to  return.  We  started  from  He  a  la 
Crosse,  and  held  our  way  over  a  chain  of 
lakes  and  rivers.  Eiviere  Cruise  was  passed, 
Lac  Clair  lay  at  sundown  far  stretching  to 
our  right  into  the  blue  cold  north,  and  when 
dusk  had  come,  we  were  halted  for  the  night 
in  a  lonely  Indian  hut  which  stood  on  the 
shores  of  the  Detroit,  fully  forty  miles  from 
our  starting-place  of  the  morning. 

"  A  long,  hard,  cold  day ;  storm,  drift,  and 
desolation.     We  are  lost  upon  the  lake." 

Such  is  the  entry  which  meets  my  eye  as  I 
turn  to  the  page  of  a  scanty  note-book  which 
records  the  22nd  of  February;  and  now 
looking  back  upon  this  day,  it  does  not  seem 
to  me  that  the  entry  exaggerates  in  its  pithy 
summing  up  the  misery  of  the  day's  travel. 
To  i-ecount  the  events  of  each  day's  journey, 
to  give  minutely,  starting-point,  date,  dis- 
tance, and  resting-place,  is  too  frequently  an 
error  into  which  travellers  are  wont  to  fall. 
I  have  read  somewhere  in  a  review  of  a  work 
on  African  travel,  that  no  literary  skill  has 
hitherto  been  able  to  enliven  the  description 
105 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

of  how  the  traveller  left  a  village  o£  dirty 
negroes  in  the  morning,  and  struggled  through 
swamps  all  day,  and  crossed  a  river  swarming 
with  hippopotami,  and  approached  a  Avood 
where  there  were  elephants,  and  finally  got 
to  another  village  of  dirty  negroes  in  the 
evening.  The  reviewer  is  right;  the  reiter- 
ated recital  of  Arctic  cold  and  hardship,  or 
of  African  heat  and  misery,  must  be  as 
wearisome  to  the  reader  as  its  realization  was 
painful  to  the  writer;  but  the  traveller  has 
one  advantage  over  the  reader,  the  reality  of 
the  "  storm,  drift,  and  desolation "  had  the 
excitement  of  the  very  pain  which  they  pro- 
duced. To  be  lost  in  a  haze  of  blinding  snow, 
to  have  a  spur  of  icy  keenness  urging  one  to 
fresh  exertion,  to  seek  with  dazed  eyes  hour 
after  hour  for  a  faint  print  of  snow-shoes 
or  moccasin  on  the  solid  surface  of  a  large 
lake,  to  see  the  night  approaching  and  to 
urge  the  dogs  with  whip  and  voice  to  fresh 
exertions,  to  greater  efforts  to  gain  some  dis- 
tant land-point  ere  night  has  wrapped  the 
dreary  scene  in  darkness ;  all  this  doled  out 
hour  by  hour  in  narrative  would  be  dull 
indeed. 

To  me  the  chief  excitement  lay  in  the 
question.  Will  this  trail  lead  to  aught?  Will 
we  save  daylight  to  the  shore?  But  to  the 
reader  tlie  fact  is  already  patent  that  the 
trail  did  lead  to  something,  and  that  tlie 
106 


THE    WILD  XOKTII   LAND. 

night  did  not  iind  the  travellers  still  lost  on 
the  frozen  lake. 

Neither  could  the  reader  enter  into  the  joy 
with  which,  after  such  a  day  of  toil  and  hard- 
ships, the  traveller  sees  in  the  gloom  the 
haven  he  has  sought  so  long;  it  may  be  only 
a  rude  cabin  with  windows  cut  from  the 
snow-drift  or  the  moose-skin,  it  may  be 
only  a  camp-fire  in  a  pine  clump,  but  never- 
theless the  lost  wanderer  hails  Avith  a 
feeling  of  intense  joy  the  gleam  which 
tells  him  of  a  resting  place ;  and  as  he 
stretches  his  weary  limbs  on  the  hut  floor 
or  the  pine-bush,  he  laughs  and  jests  over 
the  misfortunes,  fatigues,  and  fears,  which 
but  a  short  hour  before  were  heartsickening 
enough. 

It  was  with  feelings  such  as  this  that  I  be- 
held the  lights  of  Eiviere  la  Loche  station  on 
the  night  of  the  22nd  of  February;  for, 
through  an  afternoon  of  intense  cold  and 
blinding  drift,  we  had  struggled  in  vain  to 
keep  the  track  across  the  Buffalo  Lake.  The 
guide  had  vanished  in  the  drift,  and  it  was 
only  through  the  exertions  of  my  companion 
after  hours  of  toil  that  we  were  able  to  regain 
the  track,  and  reach,  late  on  Saturday  even- 
ing, the  warm  shelter  of  the  little  post;  a 
small,  clean  room,  a  bright  fire,  a  good  sup- 
per, an  entire  twenty-four  hours  of  sleep,  and 
rest  in  prospect.  Is  it  any  woudei-  that  with 
107 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

such  surroundings  the  hut  at  Riviere  la  Loche 
seemed  a  palace? 

And  now  each  succeeding  day  carried  us 
further  into  the  great  wilderness  of  the  north, 
over  lakes  whose  dim.  shores  loomed  through 
the  driving  snow,  and  the  ragged  pines  tossed 
wildly  in  the  wind ;  through  marsh  and 
muskeg  and  tangled  Avood,  and  all  the'long 
monotony  of  dreary  savagery  which  lies  on 
that  dim  ridge,  from  whose  sides  waters  roll 
east  to  the  Bay  of  Hudson,  north  to  the 
Frozen  Ocean. 

We  reached  the  Methy  Portage,  and  turned 
north-west  through  a  long  region  of  worth- 
less forest.  Now  and  again  a  wood  Cariboo 
crossed  the  track ;  a  marten  showed  upon  a 
frozen  lake ;  but  no  other  sign  of  life  Avas 
visible.  The  Avhole  earth  seemed  to  sleep 
in  savage  desolation ;  the  snow  lay  deep  upon 
the  ground,  and  slowly  we  plodded  on. 

To  rise  at  half-past  two  o'clock  a.m.,  start 
at  four,  and  plod  on  until  sunset,  halting 
twice  for  an  hour  during  the  day,  this  was 
the  history  of  each  day's  toil.  Yet,  Avith 
this  long  day  of  Avork,  Ave  could  only  travel 
about  tAventy-live  miles.  In  front,  along 
the  track,  Avent  a  young  Chipewyan  Indian ; 
then  came  a  train  of  dogs  floundering  deep  in 
the  soft  snow ;  then  the  other  trains  Avound 
along  upon  lirmer  footing.  Cam})-making  in 
the  evening  in  this  deej)  suow  Avas  tedious 
108 


THE  WILD  NOT{TIT  LAND. 

work.  It  was  hard,  too,  to  hunt  up  tlu;  va- 
rious dogs  iu  the  small  hours  of  theuiorniug, 
from  their  lairs  in  snow-drift  or  beneath  root 
of  tree ;  but  some  dogs  kept  uncomfortably 
close  to  camp,  and  I  well  remember  waking 
one  night  out  of  a  deep  sleep,  to  find  two 
huge  beasts  tearing  each  other  to  pieces  on 
the  top  of  the  buffalo  bag  in  which  I  lay. 

After  three  days  of  wearisome  labour  on 
this  summit  ridge  of  the  northern  continent 
we  reached  the  edge  of  a  deep  glen,  700  feet 
below  the  plateau.  At  the  bottom  of  this 
valley  a  small  river  ran  in  many  curves  be- 
tween high-wooded  shores.  The  sleds 
bounded  rapidly  down  the  steep  descent, 
dogs  and  loads  rolling  frequently  in  a  con- 
fused heap  together.  Night  had  fallen  when 
we  gained  the  lower  valley,  and  made  a  camp 
in  the  darkness  near  the  winding  river ;  the 
height  of  land  was  passed,  and  the  river 
in  the  glen  was  the  Clearwater  of  the  Atha- 
basca. 

I  have  before  spoken  of  the  life  of  hard- 
ship to  which  the  wintering  agents  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  are  habituated,  nor 
Avas  I  without  some  prat^tical  knowledge  of 
the  subject  to  which  I  have  alluded.  I  had 
now,  however,  full  opportunity  of  judging 
the  measure  of  toil  contained  in  the  simi)le 
encomium  one  often  litters  in  the  north,  "  He 
is  a  good  traveller. " 

109 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

Few  men  have  led,  even  in  the  liard  regions 
of  the  north,  a  life  of  greater  toil  than  Mr. 
Roderick  Macfarlane.  He  had  left  his  island 
home  when  almost  a  boy,  and  in  earliest 
manhood  had  entered  the  remote  Avilds  of 
the  Mackenzie  River.  For  seventeen  years 
he  had  remained  cut  off  from  the  outer  world ; 
yet  his  mind  had  nev^er  permitted  itself  to 
sink  amidst  the  oppressive  solitudes  by  which 
he  was  surrounded :  it  rose  rather  to  the  level 
of  the  vastness  and  grandeur  which  Nature 
wears  even  in  her  extreme  of  desolation. 

He  entered  with  vigour  into  the  life  of  toil 
before  him.  By  no  means  of  a  strong  con- 
stitution or  frame  of  body,  he  nevertheless 
fought  his  way  to  hardiness ;  midst  cold  and 
darkness  and  scant  living,  the  natural  accom- 
paniments of  remote  travel,  he  traversed  the 
country  between  the  Peel,  Mackenzie,  and 
Liard  rivers,  and  pushed  his  explorations  to 
the  hitherto  unknown  River  Anderson. 
Here,  on  the  borders  of  the  Barren  Ground, 
and  far  within  the  Arctic  Circle,  he  founded 
the  most  northern  and  remote  of  all  the  trad- 
ing stations  of  the  Fur  Comijany.  In  mid- 
winter he  visited  the  shores  of  the  Frozen 
Ocean,  and  dwelt  with  the  Esquimaux  along 
the  desolate  coasts  of  that  bay  which  bears 
the  name  of  England's  most  hapless  ex- 
plorer. 

Nor  was  it  all  a  land  of  desolation  to  him. 
110 


THE  WILD   NOIJTII    LAND. 

Directed  by  a  mind  as  sanguine  as  liis  own,' 
he  entered  warmly  into  the  ])ursuits  of  nat- 
ural history,  and  classed  and  catalogued  the 
numerous  birds  Avhich  seek  in  summer  these 
friendless  regions,  proving  in  some  instances 
the  range  of  several  of  the  tiniest  of  the 
feathered  wanderers  to  reach  from  Texas  to 
the  Arctic  shores. 

All  his  travels  were  performed  on  snow 
shoes,  driving  his  train  of  dogs,  or  beating 
the  track  for  them  in  the  snow.  In  a  single 
winter,  as  I  have  before  mentioned,  he  passed 
from  the  Mackenzie  River  to  the  Mississippi, 
driving  the  same  train  of  dogs  to  Fort  Garry 
fully  2,000  miles  from  his  starting-point; 
and  it  was  early  in  the  following  summer, 
on  his  return  from  England  after  a  hasty 
visit,  the  first  during  twenty  years,  that  I 
made  his  acquaintance  in  the  American  State 
of  Minnesota.  He  was  not  only  acquainted 
with  all  the  vicissitudes  of  northern  travel, 
but  his  mind  was  well  stored  with  the  his- 
tory of  previous  exploration.  Chance  and 
the  energy  of  the  old  North- West  Company 
had  accumulated  a  large  store  of  valuable 
books  in  the  principal  fort  on  the  Mackenzie. 
These  had  been  carefully  studied  during 
periods  of  inaction,  and  arctic  exploration  in 

'Tlie  late  Major  Kennicot,  U.    S.  A.,   who,   in 
charge  of  tlie  United  States  telegraph  exploration, 
died  at  Fort  Yukon,  Alaska. 
Ill 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

reality  or  in  narrative  was  equally  familiar 
to  liiiu. 

'*!  would  have  given  my  riglit  arm  to  have 
been  allowed  to  go  on  one  of  these  search  ex- 
peditions," he  often  said  to  me;  and  per- 
haps, if  those  wise  and  sapient  men,  who, 
acting  in  a  corporate  or  individual  capacity, 
have  the  power  of  selection  for  the  Avork  of 
relief  or  exploration,  would  only  accustom 
themselves  to  make  choice  of  such  materials, 
the  bones  that  now  dot  the  sands  of  King 
\Yilliam's  Land  or  the  estuary  of  the  Great 
Fish  River,  might  in  the  flesh  yet  move 
amongst  us. 

One  night  we  were  camped  on  a  solitary 
island  in  the  Swan  Lake.  The  camp  had 
been  made  after  sunset,  and  as  the  morning's 
path  lay  across  the  lake,  over  hard  snow 
where  no  track  was  necessarj-,  it  was  our  in- 
tention to  start  on  our  way  long  before  day- 
break. In  this  matter  of  early  starting  it  is 
almost  always  impossible  to  rely  on  the  In- 
dian or  the  half-breed  i-oydijenr.  They  will 
lie  close  hid  beneath  their  blankets  unless, 
indeed,  the  cold  should  become  so  intense 
as  to  force  them  to  arise  and  light  a  fire ;  but 
generally  speaking,  they  will  lie  huddled  so 
closely  together  that  they  can  defy  the  ele- 
ments, and  it  becomes  no  easy  matter  to 
arouse  them  from  their  pretended  slumbers 
at  two  or  three  o'clock  of  a  dead-cold  morn- 
112 


k 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

ing.  My  coiupanion,  liowever,  seemed  to  be 
able  to  live  Avithout  sleep.  At  two  o'clock 
he  would  arise  from  his  deer-skm  robe  and 
set  the  camp  astir.  I  generally  got  an  hour's 
law  until  the  lire  Avas  fairly  agoing  and  the 
tea-kettle  had  been  boiled. 

No  matter  Avhat  the  morning  Avas,  he  never 
complained.  This  morning  on  Swan  Lake 
was  bitterly  cold — 30°  below  zero  at  my  head. 

"  Beautiful  morning ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  I 
emerged  from  my  buffalo  robe  at  three 
o'clock ;  and  he  really  meant  it.  I  Avas  not 
to  be  done. 

"  Oh,  delightful !  "  I  managed  to  chatter 
forth,  Avith  a  tolerable  degree  of  acquiescence 
in  my  voice,  a  fcAv  mental  reservations  and 
many  bodily  ones  all  over  me. 

But  30°  beloAv  zero,  unaccompanied  by 
wind,  is  not  so  bad  after  all  when  one  is 
fairly  under  Aveigh  and  has  rubbed  one's  nose 
for  a  time,  and  struck  the  huge  "mittained  " 
hands  violently  together,  and  run  a  mile  or 
so ;  but  let  the  faintest  possible  breath  of 
wind  arise — a  "  zephyr  "  the  poets  Avould  call 
it,  a  thing  just  strong  enough  to  turn  smoke 
or  twist  the  feather  Avhich  a  Avild  duck  might 
detach  from  beneath  his  Aving  as  he  cleft  the 
air  above — then  look  out,  or  rather  look 
down,  cast  the  eye  so  much  askant  that  it  can 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  top  of  the  nose,  and 
you  Avill  see  a  ghostly  sight. 
8  113 


TFIE  WILD   NORTH   lAND. 

"We  have  all  heard  of  hard  hearts,  and 
stony  eyes,  and  marble  foreheads,  alabaster 
shoulders,  snowy  nedks,  and  tirni-set  lip,  and 
all  the  long  array  of  silicious  similitudes  used 
to  express  the  various  qualities  of  the  human 
form  divine ;  but  firmer,  and  colder,  and 
whiter,  and  harder  than  all  stands  forth 
prominently  a  frozen  nose. 

A  study  of  frozen  noses  would  be  interest- 
ing; one  could  work  out  from  it  an  essay  on 
the  admirable  fitness  of  things,  and  even  his- 
tory read  by  the  light  of  frozen  noses  might 
teach  us  new  theories.  The  Iloman  nose 
could  not  have  stood  an  arctic  winter,  hence 
the  limits  of  the  Eomau  empire.  The  Es- 
(juimau  nose  is  admirably  fitted  for  the  cli- 
mate in  which  it  breathes,  hence  the  limited 
nature  it  assumes. 


114 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Clearwater — A  Bygone  Ocean— A  Land  of  Lakes 
— The  Athabasca  River — Who  is  He? — Chipe- 
wyau  Indians — Echo — Major  Succumbs  at  Last 
— Mai  de  Raquette. 

The  Clearwater,  a  river  small  in  a  land 
Avhere  rivers  are  often  a  mile  in  width,  mean- 
ders between  its  lofty  wooded  hills ;  or  rather 
one  should  say,  meanders  in  the  deep  valley 
which  it  has  worn  for  itself  through  count- 
less ages. 

Ever  since  the  beginning  of  the  fur  trade 
it  has  been  the  sole  route  followed  into  the 
North.  More  practicable  routes  undoubtedly 
exist,  but  hitherto  the  Long  Portage  (a 
ridge  dividing  the  waters  of  the  chain  of 
lakes  and  rivers  we  have  lately  passed  from 
those  streams  which  seek  the  Arctic  Ocean) 
and  the  Clearwater  River  have  formed  as  it 
were  the  gateway  of  the  North. 

This  Long  Portage,  under  its  various 
names  of  La  Loche  and  Methy,  is  not  a  bad 
position  from  whence  to  take  a  bird's-eye 
view  of  the  Great  North. 

Once  upon  a  time,  how  long  ago  one  is 
afraid  to  say,  a  great  sea  rolled  over  what  is 
U5 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

now  the  central  continent.  From  the  Gulf 
of  jMexico  to  the  Arctic  Ocean,  from  the  Gulf 
of  St.  Lawrence  to  the  base  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  this  ocean  has  left  its  trace.  It 
had  its  shores,  and  to-day  these  shores  still 
show  the  trace  of  where  the  restless  waves 
threw  their  surge  upon  the  earlier  earth.  To 
the  eye  of  the  geologist  the  sea-shell,  high 
cast  upon  some  mountain  ridge,  tells  its  story 
of  the  sea  as  plainly  as  the  tropic  sea-shell, 
held  to  the  dreamer's  ear,  whispers  its  low 
melody  of  sounding  billow. 

To  the  east  of  this  ocean  the  old  earth 
reared  its  iron  head  in  those  grim  masses 
which  we  name  Laurentian,  and  which,  as 
though  conscious  of  their  hoary  age,  seem  to 
laugh  at  the  labour  of  the  new  comer,  man. 

The  waters  went  down,  or  the  earth  went 
up,  it  little  matters  Avhich ;  and  the  river 
systems  of  the  continent  worked  their  ways 
into  Mother  Ocean :  the  Mississippi  south, 
the  St.  Lawrence  east,  the  Mackenzie  north. 

But  the  old  Laurentian  still  remained,  and 
to-day,  grim,  filled  with  wild  lakes,  pine- 
clad,  rugged,  almost  impassable  it  lies, 
spread  in  savage  sleep  from  Labrador  to  the 
Arctic  Ocean. 

At  the  Methy  Portage  we  are  on  the  west- 
ern boundary  of  this  Laurentian  rock ;  from 
here  it  runs  south-east  to  Canada,  north  to 
the  Frozen  Ocean. 

116 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

It  is  of  the  region  lying  between  this  pri- 
mary formation  and  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
the  region  once  an  ocean,  of  which  we  would 
speak. 

I  have  said  in  an  earlier  chapter  that  the 
continent  of  British  America,  from  the  United 
States'  boundary,  slopes  to  the  north-east, 
the  eastern  slope  terminates  at  this  Portage 
la  Loche,  and  henceforth  the  only  slope  is 
to  the  north ;  from  here  to  the  Frozen  Sea, 
one  thousand  miles,  as  wild  swan  flies,  is 
one  long  and  gradual  descent.  Three  rivers 
carry  the  waters  of  this  slope  into  the  Arctic 
Ocean ;  the  great  Fish  River  of  Sir  George 
Back,  at  the  estuary  of  which  the  last  of 
Franklin's  gallant  crew  lay  down  to  die;  the 
Coppermine  of  Samuel  Hearne ;  and  the  Mac- 
kenzie which  tells  its  discoverer's  name.  The 
first  two  flow  through  the  Barren  Grounds, 
the  last  drains  by  numerous  tributaries,  sev- 
enteen hundred  miles  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains upon  both  sides  of  that  snow-capped 
range.  All  its  principal  feeders  rise  beyond 
the  mountains,  cutting  through  the  range  at 
riglit  angles,  through  tremendous  valleys, 
the  sides  of  which  overhang  the  gloomy 
waters. 

The  Liard,  the  Peel,  the  Peace  rivers,  all 

have  their  sources  to  the  west  of  the  Rocky 

Mountains.     Even  the  parent  rill  of  the  Great 

Athabasca  is  on  the  Pacific  side  also.     Nov 

U7 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

is  this  mountain,  thus  curiously  rent  in  twain 
by  large  rivers,  a  mere  ridge,  or  lofty  table- 
land ;  but  huge  and  vast,  capped  by  eternal 
snow,  it  lifts  its  peaks  full  fifteen  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea  level. 

Many  large  lakes  lie  spread  over  this  an- 
cient sea  bottom ;  Lake  Athabasca,  Great 
Slave,  and  Great  Bear  Lake  continue  across 
the  continent,  that  great  Lacustrine  line, 
which,  with  Winnipeg,  Superior,  Huron,  and 
Ontario,  forms  an  aggregate  of  water  surface 
half  as  large  as  Europe. 

Of  other  lakes,  the  country  is  simply  a 
vast  network,  beyond  all  attempt  at  name  or 
number;  of  every  size,  from  a  hundred 
yards  to  a  hundred  miles  in  length,  they  lie 
midst  prairie,  or  midst  forest,  lonely  and 
silent,  scarce  known  even  to  the  wild  man's 
ken. 

And  now,  having  thus  imperfectly  tried  to 
bring  to  the  reader's  mind  a  vision  of  this 
vast  North,  let  us  descend  from  the  height 
of  land  into  the  deej)  valley  of  the  Clear- 
water, and  like  it,  hurry  onward  to  the 
Athabasca. 

Descending  the  many-curving  Clearwater 
for  one  day,  we  reached,  on  the  last  day  of 
February,  its  junction  with  the  Athabasca,  a 
spot  known  as  the  Forks  of  the  Athabasca. 
The  aspect  of  the  country  had  undergone  a 
complete  change ;  the  dwarf  and  ragged  foi- 

ua 


THE   WILD  NOKTII  LAXD. 

est  had  given  place  to  loft}-  trees,  and  the 
white  spruce  froui  a  trunk  of  eight  feet  in 
circumference  lifted  its  head  fully  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  above  the  ground.  Nor 
was  it  only  the  aspect  of  the  trees  that  might 
have  induced  one  to  imagine  himself  in  a 
land  of  plenty.  In  the  small  fort  at  the 
Forks,  luxuries  unseen  during  many  a  da}- 
met  the  eye ;  choice  vegetables,  the  produce 
of  the  garden;  moose  venison,  and  better 
than  all,  the  tender  steak  of  the  wood  buffalo, 
an  animal  now  growing  rare  in  the  North. 

There  was  salmon  too,  and  pears  and 
peaches;  but  these  latter  luxuries  I  need 
hai'dly  say  were  not  home  ])rodm'e ;  they 
(ame  from  the  ojiposite  extremes  of  Quebec 
and  California.  Here,  then,  in  the  midst  of 
the  wilderness  was  a  veritable  Eden.  Here 
was  a  })lace  to  cry  Halt,  to  build  a  hut,  and 
jjass  the  remainder  of  one's  life.  Xo  more 
dog-driving,  no  more  snow-shoes,  no  smoky 
camp,  no  aching  feet,  no  call  in  midnight; 
nothing  but  endless  wood  buffalo  steaks,  fried 
onions,  moose  moofle,  parsnips,  fresh  buttei-, 
rest  and  sleep :  alas !  it  might  not  be ;  nine 
hundred  miles  yet  lay  between  me  and  the 
Rocky  Mountains;  nine  hundred  miles  had 
still  to  be  travelled,  ere  the  snow  had  left 
bare  the  brown  banks  of  the  Peace  Iliver. 

And  now  our  course  led  straight  to  the 
north,  down  the  broad  bed  of  the  Athabasca. 

iiy 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAXD. 

A.  river  high  shored,  and  many  islanded,  with 
long  reaches,  leagues  in  length,  and  lower 
banks  thick  Avooded  with  large  forest  trees. 

From  bank  to  bank  fully  six  hundred  yards 
of  snoAv  lay  spread  over  the  rough  frozen 
surface ;  and  at  times,  Avhere  the  prairie 
plateau  approached  the  river's  edge,  black 
bitumen  oozed  out  of  the  clayey  bank,  and 
the  scent  of  tar  was  strong  upon  the  frosty 
air. 

On  Sunday,  the  2nd  of  March,  we  remained 
for  the  day  in  a  wood  of  large  pines  and  pop- 
lars. Dogs  and  men  enjoyed  that  day's  rest. 
Many  were  footsore,  some  were  sick,  all  were 
tired. 

"The  Bheel  is  a  black  man,  and  much 
more  hairy;  he  carries  archers  in  his  hand, 
Avith  these  he  shoots  you  when  he  meets  you ; 
he  throws  your  body  into  a  ditch :  by  this 
3'ou  will  know  the  Bheel."  Such,  word  for 
Avord,  Avas  the  written  reply  of  a  young  Hin- 
doo at  an  examuiation  of  candidates  for  a 
Government  Office  in  Bombay  a  fcAv  years 
ago.  The  examiners  had  asked  for  a  de- 
scription of  the  hill-tribe  known  as  Bheels, 
and  this  Avas  the  ansAver.  It  is  not  on  record 
Avhat  number  of  marks  the  youtlif ul  Brahmin 
receiA'ed  for  the  information  thus  lucidly  con- 
veyed, or  Avhetlier  the  examiners  Avere  desir- 
ous of  making  further  acquaintance  Avitli  the 
Bheel,  upon  the  terms  indicated  in  the  cou- 
130 


THE  WILD  NOItTII   LAND. 

eluding  sentence;  but,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  the  first  sight  of  a  veritable  Chipewyan 
Indian  brought  to  my  mind  the  foregoing 
outline  of  the  Bheel,  and  I  found  myself  in- 
sensibly repeating,  "The  Chipewyan  is  a  red 
man,  and  much  more  hairy."  There  I 
stopped,  for  he  did  not  carry  archers  in  his 
hand,  nor  proceed  in  the  somewhat  abrupt 
and  discourteous  manner  which  characterized 
the  conduct  of  the  Bheel.  And  here,  per- 
haps, it  will  be  necessary  to  say  a  few  words 
about  the  wild  man  who  dwells  in  this  North- 
ern Land. 

A  great  deal  has  been  said  and  written 
about  the  wild  man  of  America.  The  white 
man  during  many  years  has  lectured  upon 
him,  written  learned  essays  upon  him,  pliien- 
ologically  i)roved  him  tliis,  chronologically 
demonstrated  him  that,  ethnologically  as- 
serted him  to  be  the  tother!  I  am  not  sure 
that  the  conchologists  even  have  not  thrown 
a  shell  at  him,  and  most  clearly  shown  tliat 
he  was  a  conglomerate  of  this,  that,  and 
tother  all  combined.  They  began  to  dissect 
him  very  early.  One  Hugh  Grotius  had 
much  to  say  about  him  a  long  time  ago. 
Another  Jean  de  Lent  also  descanted  upon 
him,  and  so  far  back  as  the  year  of  grace 
1050,  one  Thorogood  (what  a  glimpse  the  date 
gives  of  the  name  and  the  ih'une  of  the  date  I) 
composed  a  godly  treatise'  entitled  "  Jewa 
121 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAXD. 

ill  America,  or  a  probability  that  Americans 
are  of  that  race."  Perhaps,  if  good  jVIaster 
Thorogood  was  in  the  flesh  to-day  he  might, 
arguing  from  certain  little  dealings  in  bound- 
ary cases,  consequential  claims  and  so  forth, 
prove  incontestably  that  modern  American 
statesmen  were  of  that  race  too.  But  to  pro- 
ceed. This  question  of  the  red  man's  origin 
has  not  yet  been  solved ;  the  doctors  are  still 
disputing  about  him.  One  professor  has 
gotten  hold  of  a  skull  delved  from  the  pre- 
sumed site  of  ancient  Atazlan,  and  by  the 
most  careful  measurements  of  the  said  skull 
has  proceeded  to  show  that  because  one  skull 
measures  in  circumference  the  hundredth  and 
seventy-seventh  decimal  of  an  inch  more  than 
it  ought,  it  must  of  necessity  be  of  the  black- 
amoor type  of  headpiece. 

Another  equally  learned  professor,  pos- 
sessed of  another  equally  curious  skull  (of 
course  on  shelf  not  on  shoulders),  has  unfor- 
tunately come  to  conclusions  directly  oppo- 
site, and  incontestably  proven  from  careful 
occii)ital  measurements  that  the  tpye  is  Mon- 
golian. 

^Yhile  thus  the  doctors  differ  as  to  what  he 
is,  or  who  he  is,  or  Avhence  he  came,  the 
farce  of  theory  changes  to  the  stern  tragedy 
of  fact ;  and  over  the  broad  prairie,  and  ui)on 
the  cloud-capped  mountain,  and  northwards 
in  t,\\e  gloomy  pijie-forest,  the  red  man 
133 


THE   "WILD   NOirni    LAND. 

withers  and  dies  out  before  our  gaze ;  soon 
they  will  have  nothing  but  the  skulls  to  lec- 
ture upon. 

From  the  Long  Portage  which  we  have  but 
lately  crossed,  to  the  barren  shores  where 
dwell  the  Esquimaux  of  the  coasts,  a  family 
of  cognate  tribes  inhabit  the  continent ;  from 
east  to  west  the  limits  of  this  race  are  even 
more  extensive.  They  are  found  at  Churchill, 
on  Hudson's  Bay,  and  9t  Fort  Simpson,  on 
the  rugged  coast  of  New  Caledonia.  But 
stranger  still,  far  down  in  Arizona  and  Mex- 
ico, even  as  far  south  as  Nicaragua,  the  gut- 
tural language  of  the  Chipewyan  race  is  still 
heard,  and  the  wild  Navajo  ami  fierce  Apache 
horseman  of  the  Mexican  i)lains  are  kindred 
races  with  the  distant  fur-hunters  of  the 
North.  Of  all  the  many  ramifications  of  In- 
dian race,  this  is  perhaps  the  most  extraordi- 
nary. Through  what  vicissitudes  of  war  and 
time,  an  offshoot  from  the  shores  of  Atha- 
basca wandered  down  into  Mexico,  while  a 
hundred  fierce,  foreign.  Avarlike  tribes  occu- 
pied the  immense  intervening  distance,  is 
more  than  human  conjecture  can  determine. 

To  the  east  of  the  Eocky  Mountains  these 
races  call  themselves  **Tinneh,"  a  name 
which  signifies  "People,"  with  that  sublim- 
ity of  ignorance  which  makes  most  savage 
people  imagine  themselves  the  sole  proprie- 
tors of  the  earth.  Many  subdivisions  exist 
12ii 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAN^D. 

among  them ;  these  are  the  Copper  Indians, 
and  the  Dog  Eibs  of  the  Barren  Grounds; 
the  Loucheux  or  Kutchins,  a  fierce  tribe  on 
the  Upper  Yukon ;  the  Yellow  Knives, 
Hares,  Nehanies,  Sickanies,  and  Dahas  of 
the  IMountains  and  the  IMackenzie  River ;  the 
Slaves  of  the  Great  Slave  Lake ;  the  Chip- 
ewyans  of  Lake  Athabasca  and  Portage  la 
Loche,  the  Beavers  of  the  Peace  River. 

\yest  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  the  Car- 
riers, still  a  branch  of  the  Chipewyan  stock, 
intermingle  with  the  numerous  Atnah  races 
of  the  coast.  On  the  North  Saskatchewan, 
a  small  wild  tribe  called  the  Surcees  also 
springs  from  this  great  family,  and  as  we 
have  already  said,  nearly  three  thousand 
miles  far  down  in  the  tropic  plains  of  Old 
]\Iexico,  the  harsh,  stuttering  "  tch  "  accent 
grates  upon  the  ear.  Spread  over  such  a  vast 
extent  of  country  it  may  be  supposed  they 
vary  much  in  physiognomy.  Bravery  in  men 
and  l^eauty  in  women  are  said  to  go  hand  in 
hand.  Of  the  courage  of  the  Chi[)ewyan  men 
I  shall  say  nothhig;  of  the  beauty  of  the 
women  I  shall  say  something.  To  assert  that 
they  are  very  plain  would  not  be  true ;  they 
are  undeniably  uglv.  Some  of  the  young  ones 
are  very  fat ;  all  of  the  old  ones  are  very  thin. 
INIany  of  the  faces  are  pear-shaped ;  narrow 
foreheads,  wide  cheeks,  snuill  deep-set  fat 
eyes.  Xhe  type  is  said  to  be  Mongolian,  and 
124 


THE   AVILF)    NORTH    LAND. 

if  so,  the  Mongolians  sliould  change  tlieir 
type  as  soon  as  i)ossible. 

Several  of  the  men  wear  sickly-looking 
monstaches,  and  short,  pointed  chin  tufts; 
the  hair,  coarse  and  matted,  is  worn  long. 
The  children  look  like  rolls  of  fat,  half  melted 
on  the  outside.  Their  general  employment 
seems  to  be  eating  moose  meat,  when  they 
are  not  engaged  in  deriving  nourishment  from 
the  maternal  bosom. 

This  last  occupation  is  protracted  to  an  ad- 
vanced age  of  childhood,  a  circumstance 
which  probably  arises  from  the  fact  that  the 
new-born  infant  receives  no  nourishment 
from  its  mother  for  four  days  after  its  birth, 
in  order  that  it  shall  in  after  life  be  able  to 
stand  the  pangs  of  hunger;  but  the  infant 
mind  is  no  doubt  conscious  itself  that  it  is 
being  robbed  of  its  just  rights,  and  endeav- 
ours to  make  up  for  lost  time  by  this  post- 
ponement of  the  age  of  weaning. 

This  description  does  not  hold  good  of  the 
Beaver  Indians  of  Peace  River;  many  of 
them,  men  and  women,  are  good-looking 
enough,  but  of  them  more  anon. 

All  these  tribes  are  excellent  hunters. 
The  moose  in  the  south  and  Avooded  country, 
the  reindeer  in  the  barren  lands,  ducks  and 
geese  in  vast  numbers  during  the  summer, 
and,  generally  speaking,  inexhaustible  fish  in 
the  lakes  yield  them  their  means  of  living. 
125 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

At  times,  one  prodigious  feast;  again,  a 
period  of  starvation. 

For  a  time  living  on  moose  nose,  or  buffalo 
tongue,  or  daintiest  tit-bit  of  lake  and  for- 
est ;  and  then  glad  to  get  a  scrap  of  dry  meat, 
or  a  putrid  fish  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  their 
hunger.  While  the  meat  lasts,  life  is  a  long 
dinner.  The  child  just  able  to  crawl  is  seen 
Avith  one  hand  holding  the  end  of  a  piece  of 
meat,  the  other  of  which  is  held  between  the 
teeth ;  while  the  right  hand  Avields  a  knife  a 
foot  in  length,  with  which  it  saws  steadily, 
between  lips  and  fingers,  until  the  mouthful  is 
detached.  How  the  nose  escapes  amputation 
is  a  mystery  I  have  never  heard  explained. 

A  few  tents  of  Chipewyans  were  pitched 
along  the  shores  of  the  Athabasca  River, 
when  we  descended  that  stream.  They  had 
long  been  expecting  the  return  of  my  com- 
panion, to  whose  arrival  they  looked  as  the 
means  of  supplying  them  with  percussion 
gun-caps,  that  article  having  been  almost  ex- 
hausted among  them. 

Knowing  the  hours  at  which  he  was  wont 
to  travel  they  had  marked  their  camping- 
places  on  the  wooded  shores,  by  planting  a 
line  of  branches  in  the  snow  across  the  river 
from  one  side  to  the  other.  Thus  even  at 
night  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  pass 
their  tents  Avithout  noticing  the  line  of 
marks.  The  tents  inside  or  out  always  pre- 
136 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

sented  the  same  spoetacle.  l^atte red-looking 
dogs  of  all  ages  sunouiided  the  dwelling- 
place.  In  the  trees  or  on  a  stage,  meat, 
snow-shoes,  and  dog  sleds,  lay  sale  from 
canine  ravage.  Inside,  some  ten  or  twelve 
people  congregated  around  a  bright  lire  burn- 
ing in  the  centre.  The  lodge  was  usually 
large,  requiring  a  dozen  moose  skins  in  its 
construction.  Quantities  of  moose  or  buffalo 
meat,  cut  into  slices,  hung  to  dry  in  the 
upper  smoke.  The  inevitable  puppy  dog 
playing  with  a  stick ;  the  fat,  greasy  child 
pinching  the  puppy  dog,  drinking  on  all 
fours  out  of  a  tin  pan,  or  sawing  away  at  a 
bit  of  meat;  and  the  women,  old  or  young, 
cooking  or  nursing  with  a  naivete  which 
Rubens  w^ould  have  delighted  in.  All  these 
made  up  a  Chipewyan  "Interior,"  such  as  it 
appeared  wherever  we  halted  in  our  march, 
and  leaving  our  dogs  upon  the  river,  went  up 
into  the  tree-covered  shore  to  where  the  tents 
stood  pitched. 

Anxious  to  learn  the  amount  of  game  de- 
stroyed by  a  good  hunter  in  a  season,  I  caused 
one  of  the  men  to  ask  Chripo  what  he  had 
killed.  Chripo  counted  for  a  time  on  his  fin- 
gers, and  then  informed  us  that  since  the 
snow  fell  he  had  killed  ten  Avood  buffalo  and 
twenty-five  moose ;  in  other  Avords,  about 
seventeen  thousand  pounds  of  meat,  dui-ing 
four  months.  But  of  this  a  large  quantity 
137 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

went  to  tlie  Hudson's  Bay  Fort,  at  the  Forks 
of  the  Athaljasea. 

The  night  of  the  4th  of  March  found  us 
camped  in  a  higli  wood,  at  a  point  where  a 
"  cache "  of  provisions  had  been  made  for 
ourselves  and  our  dogs.  More  than  a  fort- 
night earlier  these  provisions  had  been  sent 
from  Fort  Chipewyan,  on  Lake  Athabasca, 
and  had  been  deposited  in  tlie  "  cache  "  to 
await  my  companion's  arrival.  A  bag  of  fish 
for  the  dogs,  a  small  i^acket  of  letters,  and  a 
bag  of  good  things  for  the  master  swung 
from  a  large  tripod  close  to  the  shore.  Some 
of  these  things  were  very  necessary,  all  were 
welcome,  and  after  a  choice  supper  we  turned 
in  for  the  night. 

At  four  o'clock  next  morning  we  were  off. 
My  friend  led  the  march,  and  the  day  Avas 
to  be  a  long  one.  For  four  hours  we  held 
on,  and  by  an  hour  after  sunrise  we  had 
reached  a  hut,  where  dwelt  a  Chipewyan 
named  Echo.  The  house  was  deserted,  and 
if  anybody  had  felt  inclined  to  ask.  Where 
had  Echo  gone  to?  Echo  was  not  there  to 
answer  where.  Nobody,  however,  felt  dis- 
posed to  ask  the  question,  but  in  lieu  thereof 
dinner  Avas  being  liastily  got  ready  in  Echo's 
abandoned  fireplace.  Dinner?  Yes,  onr  first 
dinner  took  place  usually  between  seven  and 
eight  o'clock  a.m.  Nor  were  appetites  ever 
wanting  at  that  hour  either. 
128 


THE   WILD   NOIJTIT    [.AND. 

Various  iuisl)aiis,  of  l)vok(Mi  sjiow-slioo.s  and 
broken-down  dog,  had  retarded  my  i)rogress 
on  this  morning,  and  l)y  the  time  the  leading 
train  had  reached  Echo's  I  was  far  behind. 
One  of  my  dogs  had  totally  given  out,  not 
Cerf-vola,  but  the  He  a  la  Crosse  dog  "  Major." 
Poor  brute !  he  had  suddenly  lain  down,  and 
refused  to  move.  He  was  a  willing,  good 
hauler,  generally  barking  vociferously  when- 
ever any  impediment  in  front  detained  the 
trains.  I  saw  at  once  it  was  useless  to  coerce 
him  after  his  first  break-down,  so  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  take  him  from  the  har- 
ness and  hurry  on  with  the  other  three  dogs 
as  best  I  could.  Of  the  old  train  which  had 
shared  my  fortunes  ever  since  that  now  dis- 
tant day  in  the  storm,  on  the  Red  River 
steam-boat,  two  yet  remained  to  me. 

Pony  had  succumbed  at  the  Riviere  la 
Loche,  and  had  been  left  behind  at  that  sta- 
tion, to  revel  in  an  abundance  of  white  fish. 
The  last  sight  I  got  of  him  was  suggestive  of 
his  character.  He  v/as  careering  Avildly 
across  the  river  with  a  huge  stolen  white  fish 
in  his  Jiiouth,  pursued  by  two  men  and  half- 
a-dozen  dogs,  vainly  attempting  to  recapture 
the  purloined  property.  Another  dog,  named 
"  Sans  Pareil,"  had  taken  his  place,  and  thus 
far  we  had  "  marched  on  in  the  bowels  of 
the  land  without  impediment." 

From  the  day  after  my  departure  from  He 
9  129 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

a  la  Crosse  I  had  regularly  used  snow-shoes, 
and  now  I  seldom  sought  the  respite  of  the 
sled,  but  trudged  along  behind  the  dogs. 
For  I  well  knew  that  it  was  only  by  sparing 
my  dogs  thus  that  I  could  hope  to  carry 
them  the  immense  distance  I  purposed  to 
travel;  and  I  was  also  aware  that  a  time 
might  come  when,  in  the  many  vicissitudes 
of  snow  travel,  I  would  be  unable  to  walk, 
and  have  to  depend  altogether  on  my  train 
for  means  of  movement.  So,  as  day  by  day 
the  snow-shoe  became  easier,  I  had  tramped 
along,  until  now,  on  this  5th  of  March,  I 
could  look  back  at  night  three  hundred  miles 
of  steady  walking. 

Our  meal  at  Echo's  over  we  set  out  again. 
Another  four  hours  passed  without  a  halt, 
and  another  sixteen  or  seventeen  miles  lay 
behind  us.  Then  came  the  second  dinner — 
cakes,  tea,  and  sweet  pemmican ;  and  away 
we  went  once  more  upon  the  river.  The  day 
was  cold,  but  line ;  the  dogs  trotted  well,  and 
the  pace  was  faster  than  before.  Two  In- 
dians had  started  ahead  to  hurry  on  to  a 
spot,  indicated  by  my  companion,  where  they 
Avere  to  make  ready  the  cam}),  and  await  our 
arrival. 

Night  fell,  and  found  us  still  upon  the  river. 

A  bright  moon  silvered  the  snow ;  we  pushed 

along,  but  the  dogs  were  now  tired,  all,  save 

my  train,  which  having  only  blankets,  guns, 

1:50 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

and  a  few  articles  to  carry,  went  still  as 
gamely  as  ever.  At  sundown  our  baggage 
sleds  were  far  to  the  rear.  My  companion 
driving  a  Avell-loaded  sled  led  the  way,  while 
I  kept  close  behind  him. 

For  four  hours  after  dark  we  held  steadily 
on;  the  night  was  still,  but  very  cold;  the 
moon  showed  us  the  track ;  dogs  and  men 
seemed  to  go  forward  from  the  mere  impulse 
of  progression.  I  had  been  tired  hours  be- 
fore, and  had  got  over  it ;  not  half-tired,  but 
regularly  weary ;  and  yet  somehow  or  other 
the  feeling  of  weariness  had  passed  away, 
and  one  stepped  forward  upon  the  snow-shoe 
by  a  mechanical  effort  that  seemed  destitute 
of  sense  or  feeling. 

At  last  we  left  the  river,  and  ascended  a 
steep  bank  to  the  left,  passing  iiito  the  shadow 
of  gigantic  pines.  Between  their  giant  trunks 
the  moon-light  slanted ;  and  the  snow,  piled 
liigh  on  forest  wreck,  glowed  lustrous  in  the 
fretted  light.  A  couple  of  miles  more  brought 
us  suddenly  to  the  welcome  glare  of  firelight, 
and  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  we  reached  the 
blazing  camp.  Eighteen  hours  earlier  Ave 
had  started  for  the  day's  march,  and  only 
during  two  hours  had  we  halted  on  the  road. 
We  had,  in  fact,  marched  steadily  during 
sixteen  hours,  twelve  of  Avhich  had  been  at 
rapid  pace.  The  distance  run  that  day  is 
unmeasured,  and  is  likely  to  remain  so  for 
131 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

many  a  da}' ;  but  at  the  most  moderate  esti- 
mate it  would  not  have  been  less  than  lifty- 
six  miles.  It  was  the  longest  day's  march  I 
ever  made,  and  I  had  cause  long  to  remember 
it,  for  on  arising  at  daybreak  next  morning  I 
was  stiff  with  IVIal  de  Raquette. 

In  the  North,  ]\tal  de  Eaquette  or  no  Mai 
de  Raquette,  one  must  march ;  sick  or  sore, 
or  blistered,  the  traveller  must  frequently 
still  push  on.  Where  all  is  a  wilderness, 
progression  frequently  means  preservation ; 
and  delay  is  tantamount  to  death. 

In  our  case,  however,  no  such  necessity 
existed ;  but  as  we  were  only  some  twenty- 
five  miles  distant  from  the  great  central  dis- 
tributing point  of  the  Northern  Fur  Trade,  it 
was  advisable  to  reach  it  without  delay. 
Once  again  we  set  out :  debouching  from  the 
forest  we  entered  a  large  marsh.  Soon  a 
lake,  with  low-lying  shores,  spread  before  us. 
Another  marsh,  another  frozen  river,  and 
at  last,  avast  lake  opened  out  upon  our  gaze. 
Islands,  rocky,  and  clothed  with  pine-trees, 
rose  from  the  snowy  surface.  To  the  east, 
nothing  but  a  vast  expanse  of  ice-covered  sea, 
with  a  blue,  cold  sky-line;  to  the  north,  a 
shore  of  rocks  and  hills,  wind-swept,  and 
part  covered  with  dwarf  firs,  and  on  the  ris- 
ing shore,  the  clustered  buildings  of  a  large 
fort,  with  a  red  flag  flying  above  them  in  the 
cold  n(jrth  l^last. 

133 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

The  "lake  "  was  Athabasca,  the  "  clustered 
buildnigs  "  Fort  Chipewyan,  and  the  Flag — 
well;  we  all  know  it;  but  it  is  only  when 
the  wanderer's  eye  meets  it  in  some  lone  spot 
like  this  that  he  turns  to  it,  as  the  emblem 
of  a  Home  Avhich  distance  has  shrined  deeper 
in  his  heart. 


183 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Lake  Athabasca — Northern    Lights — Chipewyan — 
The  Real  Workers  of  the  World. 

Athabasca,  or  more  correctly  "Arabas- 
cow,"  "The  Meeting-place  of  many  Waters," 
is  a  large  lake.  At  this  fort  of  Chipewyan  we 
stand  near  its  western  end.  Two  hundred 
miles  away  to  the  east,  its  lonely  waters  still 
lave  against  the  granite  rocks. 

Whatever  may  be  the  work  to  which  he 
turns  hand  or  brain,  an  Indian  seldom  errs. 
If  he  names  a  lake  or  fashions  a  piece  of 
bark  to  sail  its  waters,  both  Avill  fit  the  work 
for  which  they  were  intended. 

"  The  meeting-place  of  many  waters  "  tells 
the  story  of  Athabasca.  In  its  bosom  many 
rivers  unite  their  currents;  and  from  its 
north-western  rim  pours  the  Slave  River, 
the  true  Mackenzie.  Its  first  English  dis- 
coverer called  it  the  "  Lake  of  the  Hills ;  "  a 
more  appropriate  title  would  have  been  "  The 
Lake  of  the  \Vinds, "  for  fierce  and  wild  the 
storms  sweep  over  its  waves. 

Over  the  Lake  Athabasca  the  Northern 
Lights  hold  their  highest  revels.  They  flash, 
and  dance,  and  stream,  and  intermingle,  and 
134 


THE  WILD  N()Kt:i  land. 

wave  together  their  many  colours  like  the 
shapes  and  hues  of  a  kaleidoscope.  Some- 
times the  long  columns  of  light  seem  to  rest 
upon  the  silent,  frozen  shores,  stretching  out 
their  rose-tipped  tops  to  toucli  the  zenith; 
again  the  lines  of  liglit  traverse  the  sky  from 
east  to  west  as  a  hand  might  sweep  the 
chords  of  some  vast  harp,  and  from  its  touch 
would  flow  liglit  instead  of  music.  So 
quickly  run  the  colours  along  these  shafts, 
that  the  ear  listens  instinctively  for  sound  in 
the  deep  stillness  of  the  frozen  solitude ;  but 
sound  I  have  never  heard.  Many  a  time  I 
have  listened  breathless  to  catch  the  faint- 
est whisper  of  these  wondrous  lightnings ; 
they  were  mute  as  the  waste  that  lay  around 
me. 

Figures  convey  but  a  poor  idea  of  cold, 
yet  they  are  the  only  means  we  have,  and  by 
a  comparison  of  figures  some  persons,  at 
least,  will  understand  the  cold  of  an  Atha- 
bascan winter.  The  citadel  of  Quebec  has 
the  reputation  of  being  a  cold  winter  resi- 
dence ;  its  mean  temperature  for  the  month 
of  January  is  11°  7'  Fahr.  The  mean  tem- 
perature of  the  month  of  January,  1844,  at 
Fort  Chipewyan,  was  22°  74',  or  nearly  .30° 
colder,  and  during  the  preceding  month  of 
December  the  wind  blew  with  a  total  pressure 
of  one  thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty 
pounds  to  the  square  foot. 
135 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

It  is  perhaps  needless  to  say  more  about 
the  rigour  of  an  Athabascan  winter. 

As  it  is  the  "meeting-place  of  many- 
waters  "  so  also  is  it  the  meeting-place  of 
many  systems.  Silurian  and  Devonian  ap- 
proach it  from  the  west.  Laurentian  still 
holds  five-sixths  of  its  waters  in  the  same 
gras])  as  when  what  is  now  Athabasca  lay  a 
deep  fiord  along  the  ancient  ocean  shore. 
The  old  rock  caught  it  to  his  rough  heart 
then,  and  when  in  later  ages  the  fickle  waves 
which  so  long  had  kissed  his  lijis  left  him 
stern  and  lonely,  he  still  held  the  clear,  cold 
lake  to  his  iron  bosom. 

Athabasca  may  be  said  to  mark  also  the 
limits  of  some  great  divisions  of  the  animal 
kingdom.  The  reindeer  and  that  most  cu- 
rious relic  of  an  older  time,  the  musk  ox, 
come  down  near  its  north-eastern  shores,  for 
there  that  bleak  region  known  as  the  "  Bar- 
ren Grounds"  is  but  a  few  miles  distant. 
These  animals  never  pass  to  the  southern  end 
of  the  lake ;  the  Cariboo,  or  reindeer  of  the 
woods,  being  a  distinct  species  from  that 
which  inhabits  the  treeless  waste.  The  wood 
buffalo  and  the  moose  are  yet  numerous  on 
the  north-west  and  south-west  shores:  but 
of  these  we  shall  have  more  to  say  anon. 

All  through  the  summer,  from  early  ^Lay 
to  mid-October,  the  shores  of  the  lake  swarm 
with  wild  geese,  and  the  twilight  midsummer 
136 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

miduiglit  is  filled  with  the  harsh  sounds  of 
the  cries  of  the  snow  goose,  or  the  "  wavy  " 
flying  low  over  their  favourite  waters. 

In  early  days  Chipewyan  was  an  important 
centre  of  the  fur  trade,  and  in  later  times  it 
has  been  made  the  starting-point  of  many 
of  the  exploratory  i)arties  to  the  northern 
coast.  From  Old  Fort  Chii)ewyan  Mackenzie 
set  forth  to  explore  the  great  northern  river, 
and  to  the  same  place  he  returned  when  first 
of  all  men  north  of  the  40th  parallel  he  had 
crossed  in  the  summers  of  1792-93  the  con- 
tinent to  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

It  was  from  New  Fort  Chipewyan  that 
Simpson  set  out  to  trace  the  coast-line  of  the 
Arctic  Ocean  ;  and  earlier  than  either,  it  was 
from  Fond  du  Lac,  at  the  eastern  end  of 
Fort  Athabasca,  that  Samuel  Hearne  wan- 
dered forth  to  reach  the  Arctic  Sea. 

To-day  it  is  useful  to  recall  these  stray 
items  of  adventure  from  the  past  in  which 
they  lie  buried.  It  has  been  said  by  some 
one  that  a  "  nation  can  not  be  saved  by  a  cal- 
culation ;  "  neither  can  she  be  made  by  one. 

If  to-day  we  are  what  we  are,  it  is  because 
a  thousand  men  in  bygone  times  did  not  stop 
to  count  the  cost.  The  decline  of  a  nation 
differs  from  that  of  an  individual  in  the  first 
symptoms  of  its  decay.  The  heart  of  the 
nation  goes  first,  the  extremities  still  remain 
vigorous.  France,  with  many  a  gallant  soul 
137 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

striking  hard  for  her  in  the  Carnatic  or  in 
Canada,  sickens  in  the  pomp  and  luxury  of 
Versailles,  and  as  nothing  to  offer  to  her 
heroes  but  forgetfulness,  debt,  or  the  rack. 
Her  colonial  history  was  one  long  tissue  of 
ingratitude. 

]^>iencourt,  De  Chastes,  Varrene  de  la  Yer- 
endrie,  or  Lally  might  fight  and  toil  and  die, 
what  cared  the  selfish  heart  of  old  France? 
The  order  of  St.  Louis  long  denied,  and 
40,000  livres  of  debt  rewarded  the  discovery 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Frenchmen  gave 
to  France  a  continent.  France  thought  little 
of  the  gift,  and  fate  took  it  back  again. 
History  sometimes  repeats  itself.  There  is 
a  younger  if  not  a  greater  Britain  waiting 
quietly  to  reap  the  harvest  of  her  mother's 
mistakes. 

But  to  Chipewyan.  It  is  emphatically  a 
lonely  spot;  in  summer  the  cry  of  the  wild 
bird  keeps  time  to  the  lajjping  of  the  wave 
on  the  rocky  shore,  or  the  pine  islands  rustle 
in  the  western  breeze ;  nothing  else  moves 
over  these  8,000  square  miles  of  crystal 
water.  Now  and  again  at  long  intervals  the 
beautiful  canoe  of  a  Chij^ewyan  glides  along 
the  bay-indented  shores,  or  crosses  some 
traverse  in  the  open  lake. 

AYhen  Samuel  Hearne  first  looked  upon  the 
"Arabascow,"  buffalo  were  very  numerous 
along  its  southern  shore,  to-day  they  are 
138 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

scarce;  all  else  rests  as  then  in  untamed  di'so- 
lation.  At  times  this  west  end  of  the  lake 
has  been  the  scene  of  strange  excitements. 
Men  came  from  afar  and  pitched  their  tents 
awhile  on  these  granite  shores,  ere  they  struck 
deeper  into  the  heart  of  the  great  north. 
Mackenzie,  Franklin,  Back,  Richardson, 
Simpson,  Rae,  rested  here;  ere  piercing 
further  into  unknown  wilds,  they  flew  the 
red-cross  flag  o'er  seas  and  isles  upon  whose 
shores  no  human  foot  had  pressed  a  sand- 
print. 

Eight  hundred  thousand  pounds  sunk  in 
the  Arctic  Sea!  will  exclaim  my  calculating 
friend  behind  the  national  counter;  nearly  a 
million  gone  for  ever!  Ko,  head  cash- 
keeper,  you  are  wrong.  That  million  of 
money  will  bear  interest  higher  than  all  your 
little  speculations  in  times  not  far  remote, 
and  in  times  lying  deep  in  the  misty  future. 
In  hours  when  life  and  honour  lie  at  differ- 
ent sides  of  the  "to  do  "  or  "'not  to  do,"  men 
will  go  back  to  times  when  other  men  bat- 
tling Avith  nature  or  with  man,  cast  their 
vote  on  the  side  of  honour,  and  by  the  white 
light  thrown  into  the  future  from  the  great 
dead  Past,  they  will  read  their  roads  where 
many  paths  commingle. 


139 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  Hudson's  Baj'  Fort — It  Comes  at  Last — News  from 
the  Outside  World — Tame  and  Wild  Savages — 
Lac  Clair — A  Treacherous  Deed— Harper. 

The  term  "  Fort "  which  so  frequently  oc- 
curs in  these  pages  may  perhaps  convey  an 
erroneous  impression  to  the  reader's  mind. 
An  imjjosing  array  of  rampart  and  bastion,  a 
loop-holed  wall  or  formidable  fortalice  may 
arise  before  his  mind's  eye  as  he  reads  the 
oft-recurring  word.  Built  generally  upon 
the  lower  bank  of  a  large  river  or  lake,  but 
sometimes  perched  upon  the  loftier  outer 
bank,  stands  the  Hudson's  Bay  Fort.  A 
square  palisade,  ten  to  twenty  feet  high,  sur- 
rounds the  buildings ;  in  the  prairie  region 
this  defence  is  stout  and  lofty,  but  in  the 
wooded  country  it  is  frequently  dispensed 
with  altogether. 

Inside  the  stockade  some  half-dozen  houses 
are  grouped  together  in  square  or  oblong 
form.  The  house  of  the  Bourgeois  and 
Clerks,  the  store  wherein  are  kept  the  blank- 
ets, coloured  cloths,  guns,  ammunition,  bright 
handkerchiefs,  ribbons,  beads,  &c.,  the  sta- 
X40 


TITE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

l)le  cominoditit's  of  tlio  Indian  trade;  another 
store  for  furs  and  peltries,  a  building  from 
the  beams  of  wliicli  hang  mj'riads  of  skins 
worth  many  a  gold  piece  in  the  marts  of 
far-away  London  city ; — martens  and  minks, 
and  dark  otters,  fishes  and  black  foxes,  to 
say  nothing  of  bears  and  beavers,  and  a  host 
of  less  valuable  furs.  Then  came  the  houses 
of  the  men. 

Lounging  at  the  gate,  or  on  the  shore  in 
front,  one  sees  a  half-breed  in  tasselated  cap, 
or  a  group  of  Indians  in  blanket  robes  or  dirty 
white  capotes;  everybody  is  smoking;  the 
pointed  poles  of  a  wigwam  or  two  rise  on 
either  side  of  the  outer  palisades,  and  over 
all  there  is  the  tapering  flag-staff.  A  horse 
is  in  the  distant  river  meadow.  Around  the 
great  silent  hills  stand  bare,  or  fringed  with 
jagged  pine  tops,  and  some  few  hundred 
yards  away  on  either  side,  a  rude  cross  or 
wooden  railing  blown  over  by  the  tempest, 
discoloured  by  rain  or  snow-drift,  marks  the 
lonely  resting-place  of  the  dead. 

Wild,  desolate  and  remote  are  these  iso- 
lated trading  spots,  yet  it  is  diflicult  to  de- 
scribe the  feelings  Avith  which  one  beholds 
them  across  some  ice-bound  lake,  or  silent 
river  as  the  dog  trains  wind  slowly  amidst 
the  snow.  Coming  in  from  the  wilderness, 
from  the  wrack  of  tempest,  and  the  bitter 
cold,  wearied  with  long  marches,  foot-sore  or 
141 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

frozen^  one  looks  upon  the  wooden  liou.se  as 
some  palace  of  rest  and  contentment. 

I  doubt  if  it  be  possible  to  know  more 
acute  comfort,  for  its  measure  is  exactly  the 
measure  of  that  other  extremity  of  discomfort 
which  excessive  cold  and  hardship  have  car- 
ried with  them.  Nor  does  that  feeling  of 
home  and  contentment  lose  aught  for  want  of 
a  welcome  at  the  threshold  of  the  lonely  rest- 
ing-place. Nothing  is  held  too  good  for  the 
wayfarer ;  the  best  bed  and  the  best  supper 
are  his.  He  has,  perhaps,  brought  letters  or 
messages  irona  long  absent  friends,  or  he 
comes  with  news  of  the  outside  world;  but 
be  he  the  bearer  of  such  things,  or  only  the 
chance  carrier  of  his  own  fortunes,  he  is  still 
a  welcome  visitor  to  the  Hudson's  Bay  Fort. 

Three  days  passed  away  in  rest,  peace,  and 
plenty.  It  was  nearing  the  time  when 
another  start  would  be  necessary,  for  after 
all,  this  Athabascan  Fort  was  scarce  a  half- 
way house  in  my  winter  journey.  The  ques- 
tion of  departure  was  not  of  itself  of  conse- 
quence, but  the  prospect  of  leaving  for  a 
long  sojourn  in  deep  solitudes,  without  one 
word  of  news  from  the  outside  world,  with- 
out that  winter  packet  to  which  we  had  all 
looked  so  long,  was  something  more  than  a 
mere  disap])ointment. 

All  this  time  we  had  been  travelling  in  ad- 
vance of  the  winter  packet,  and  as  our  track 
142 


THE   WILD   NOHTII   LAND. 

left  a  sinootli  road  for  wliatevcr  niiglit  suf- 
ceed  us,  wc  reckoned  U}»oii  being  overtaken 
at  some  i)oint  of  the  journey  by  the  faster 
travelling  express.  Such  had  not  been  the 
case,  and  now  three  days  had  passed  since 
our  arrival  without  a  sign  of  an  in-coming 
dog-train  darkening  the  expanse  of  the  frozen 
lake. 

The  morning  of  the  9th  of  March,  however, 
brought  a  change.  Far  away  in  the  hazy 
drift  and  "poudre "  which  hung  low  upon 
the  surface  of  the  lake,  the  figures  of  two 
men  and  one  sled  of  dogs  became  faintly  visi- 
ble. "Was  it  only  Antoine  Tarungeau,  a  soli- 
tary "  Freeman  "  from  the  Quatre  Fourche, 
going  like  a  good  Christian  to  his  prayers  at 
the  French  Mission?  Or  was  it  the  much- 
wished-for  packet? 

It  soon  declared  itself;  the  dogs  were  steer- 
ing for  the  fort,  and  not  for  the  mission. 
Tarungeau  might  be  an  indifferent  church 
member,  Ijut  had  the  whole  college  of  cardi- 
nals been  lodged  at  Chipcwyan  they  must 
have  rejoiced  that  it  was  not  Tarungeau 
going  to  mass,  and  that  it  was  the  winter 
packet  coming  to  the  fort. 

What  reading  we  had  on  that  Sunday 
afternoon!  News  from  the  far-off  busy 
world ;  letters  from  the  far-off  quiet  home ; 
tidings  of  great  men  passed  away  from  the 
earth ;  glad  news  and  sorry  news,  borne 
143 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

through  months  of  toil  1,500  miles  over  the 
winter  waste. 

And  now  came  a  short  busy  time  at  the 
fort.  A  redistribution  of  the  packet  had  to 
be  made.  On  to  the  north  went  a  train  of 
dogs  for  the  distant  Yukon ;  on  to  the  west 
went  a  train  of  dogs  for  the  head  of  the 
Peace  River.  In  three  days  more  I  made 
ready  to  resume  my  journey  up  the  Peace 
River.  Once  more  the  sleds  were  packed,  once 
more  the  Untiring  Cerf-vola  took  his  place  in 
the  leading  harness,  and  the  word  "  march  " 
was  given. 

This  time  I  was  to  be  alone.  My  good 
friend,  whose  unvarying  kindness  had  made 
an  acquaintanceship  of  a  few  weeks  ripen 
into  a  friendship  destined  I  trust  to  endure 
for  many  years,  was  no  longer  to  be  my  com- 
panion. 

He  came,  in  company  with  another  officer, 
some  miles  of  the  way,  to  see  me  off;  and 
then  at  the  Quatre  Fourche  we  parted,  he  to 
return  to  his  lonely  fort,  I  to  follow  across 
the  wide-spreading  Lake  Mamoway  the  long 
trail  to  the  setting  sun. 

If  the  life  of  the  wanderer  possesses  many 
moments  of  keen  enjoyment,  so  also  has  it 
its  times  of  intense  loneliness;  times  when 
no  excitement  is  near  to  raise  tlie  spirits,  no 
toil  to  render  thought  impossible ;  nothing 
but  a  dreary,  hopeless  prospect  of  lal  our, 
144 


THE   WILD    NOIJTFI    LAND. 

Avhioh  takes  day  aftor  day  some  little  ]iovtioii 
f'foiii  that  realm  of  space  lying  l)efoie  liiiii, 
only  to  cast  it  to  augment  tiiat  other  dim 
laud  of  separation  which  lies  behind  him. 

Honest  Joe  Gargery  never  with  his  black- 
smith hand  nailed  a  sadder  truth  upon  the 
wheel  of  time,  than  when  he  defined  life  to 
be  made  up  of  " partings  welded  together." 
But  in  civilization  generally  when  we  part  we 
either  look  forward  to  meeting  again  at  some 
not  remote  period,  or  we  have  so  many  varied 
occupations,  or  so  many  friends  around  us, 
that  if  the  partings  are  welded  together,  so 
also  are  the  meetings. 

In  the  lone  spaces  it  is  different.  The  end- 
less landscape,  the  monotony  of  slow  travel, 
the  dim  vision  of  what  lies  before,  seen  only 
in  the  light  of  that  other  dim  prospect  lying 
behind ;  lakes,  rivers,  plains,  forests,  all 
hushed  in  the  savage  sleep  of  winter ; — these 
things  bring  to  the  wanderer's  mind  a  sense 
of  loneliness  almost  as  vast  as  the  waste 
which  lies  around  him. 

On  the  evening  of  the  12th  of  March  I 
camped  alone  in  the  wilderness.  Far  as  eye 
could  reach,  on  every  side,  there  lay  nothing 
but  hard,  drifted  snow,  and  from  its  surface 
a  few  scant  willows  raised  their  dry  leafless 
saplings.  True,  three  or  four  men  were  busy 
scraping  the  deep  snow  from  the  lee  side  of 
some  low  willow  buslies,  but  they  were  alien 
10  145 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

in  every  thought  and  feeling;  and  we  were 
separated  l^y  a  gulf  iinpo.ssil)le  to  bridge:  so 
that  I  was  virtually  alone.  I  will  not  say 
on  whose  side  the  fault  la}-,  and  possibly  the 
admission  may  only  prove  a  congeniality  of 
feeling  between  myself  and  my  train ;  but, 
for  all  that,  I  felt  a  far  stronger  tie  of  com- 
panionship with  the  dogs  that  drew  my  load, 
than  for  the  men  with  whom  I  now  found 
myself  in  company. 

They  were  by  no  means  wild;  far  from  it, 
they  Avere  eminently  tame.  One  of  them 
was  a  scoundrel  of  a  very  low  type,  as  some 
of  his  actions  will  hereafter  show.  In  him 
the  wild  animal  had  been  long  since  destroyed, 
the  tame  brute  had  taken  its  place. 

The  man  who  had  been  my  servant  from 
the  Saskatchewan  was  a  French  half-breed ; 
strong,  active,  and  handsome,  he  was  still  a 
sulky,  good-for-nothhig  fellow.  One  might 
as  well  have  tried  to  make  friends  Avith  a  tish 
to  which  one  cast  a  worm,  as  with  this  good- 
looking,  good-for-nothing  man.  He  had 
depth  sufficient  to  tell  a  lie  which  might 
wear  the  semblance  of  truth  for  a  day ;  and 
cunning  enough  to  cheat  without  being  caught 
in  the  actual  fact.  I  think  he  was  the  most 
impudent  liar  I  have  ever  met.  The  motive 
Avhich  had  induced  him  to  accept  service  in 
this  long  journey  was,  I  believe,  a  domestic 
one.  He  had  run  away  with  a  young  English 
146 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

half-breed  girl,  and  tlien  ran  away  from  her. 
If  she  had  only  known  the  object  of  her 
affections  as  well  as  I  did,  she  wonld  have 
regarded  the  last  feat  of  activity  as  a  far  less 
serious  evil  than  the  first. 

The  third  man  was  a  Swampy  Indian  of 
the  class  one  frequently  meets  in  the  English- 
speaking  settlement  on  Red  River.  Taken 
by  himself,  he  was  negatively  good;  but 
placed  with  others  worse  than  himself,  he 
was  positively  bad.  He  was,  however,  a 
fair  traveller,  and  used  his  dogs  with  a  degree 
of  care  and  attention  seldom  seen  amongst 
the  half-breeds. 

Small  wonder,  then,  that  with  these  three 
worthies  who,  though  strangers,  now  met 
upon  a  base  of  common  rascality,  that  I 
should  feel  myself  more  completely  alone 
than  if  nothing  but  tlie  waste  had  spread 
around  me.  Full  thirty  days  of  travel  must 
elapse  ere  the  mountains,  that  great  break 
to  which  I  looked  so  long,  should  raise  their 
snowy  peaks  across  my  pathway. 

The  lameness  of  the  last  day's  travel  al- 
ready gave  ominous  symptoms  of  its  presence. 
The  snow  was  deeper  than  I  had  yet  seen  it ; 
heretofore,  at  the  longest,  the  forts  lay  within 
five  days'  journey  of  each  other;  now  there 
was  one  gap  in  which,  from  one  post  to  the 
next,  must,  at  the  shortest,  be  a  twelve  days' 
journey. 

147 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

At  dawn,  on  the  13th  of  jNIareh,  we  quitted 
our  burrow  in  the  deej)  drift  of  the  willow 
bushes,  and  held  our  Avay  across  what  was 
seemingly  a  shoreless  sea. 

The  last  sand  ridge  or  island  top  of  Lake 
Athabasca  had  sunk  beneath  the  horizon,  and 
as  the  sun  came  up,  flashing  coldly  upon  the 
level  desert  of  snow,  there  lay  around  us 
nought  but  the  dazzling  surface  of  the  frozen 
lake. 

Lac  Clair,  the  scene  of  our  present  day's 
journey,  is  in  reality  an  arm  of  the  Atha- 
basca. Nothing  but  a  formation  of  mud  and 
drift,  submerged  at  high  summer  water,  sepa- 
rated it  from  the  larger  lake ;  but  its  shores 
vary  much  from  those  of  its  neighbour,  being 
everywhere  low  and  marshy,  lined  with  scant 
willows  and  destitute  of  larger  timber.  Of 
its  south-western  termination  but  little  is 
known,  but  it  is  said  to  extend  in  that  direc- 
tion from  the  Athabasca  for  fully  seventy 
miles  into  the  Birch  Hills.  Its  breadth  from 
north  to  south  would  be  about  half  that 
distance.  It  is  subject  to  violent  winter 
storms,  accompanied  by  dense  drift;  and 
from  the  scarcity  of  wood  along  its  shores, 
and  the  absence  of  distinguishing  landmarks, 
it  is  much  dreaded  by  the  winter  voyagnur. 

The  prevailing  north-east  wind  of  the  Lake 
Athabasca  has  in  fact  the  full  sweep  of  250 
miles  across  Lac  Clair.  To  lose  one's  way 
148 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

upon  it  would  appear  to  be  the  first  rule  of 
travel  amongst  the  trip-men  of  Fort  Chipe- 
wyan.  The  last  adventure  of  this  kind  wliich 
had  taken  place  on  its  dim  expanse  had  nearly 
a  tragic  end. 

On  the  southern  shore  of  the  lake  three 
moose  had  been  killed.  When  the  tidings 
reached  the  fort,  two  men  and  two  sleds  of 
dogs  set  off  for  the  "  cache ; "  it  was  safely 
found,  the  meat  packed  upon  the  sleds,  and 
all  made  ready  for  the  return.  Then  came 
the  usual  storm:  dense  and  dark  the  line 
snow  (dry  as  dust  under  the  biting  cold) 
swept  the  surface  of  the  lake.  The  sun, 
which  on  one  of  these  "  poudre  "  days  in  the 
North  seems  to  exert  as  much  influence  upon 
the  war  of  cold  and  storm  as  some  good 
bishop  in  the  ^Middle  Ages  was  Avont  to  exer- 
cise over  the  belligerents  at  Cressy  or  Poic- 
tiers,  when,  as  it  is  stated,  "  He  withdrew  to 
a  neighbouring  eminence,  and  there  remained 
during  the  combat;" — the  sun,  I  say,  for  a 
time,  seemed  to  protest,  by  his  presence, 
against  the  whole  thing,  but  then  finding  all 
protests  ecpially  disregarded  by  the  wind  and 
cold,  he  muffled  himself  up  in  the  nearest 
cloud  and  went  fast  asleep  until  the  fight 
was  over. 

For  a  time  the  men  held  their  Avay  across 
the  lake ;  then  the  dogs  became  bewildered ; 
the  leading  driver  turned  to  his  companion. 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAN'D. 

and  telling  him  to  drive  both  trains,  he 
strode  on.  in  front  of  his  dogs  to  give  a 
"  lead  "  in  the  storm. 

Driving  two  trains  of  loaded  dogs  is  hard 
work;  the  second  driver  could  not  keep  up, 
and  the  man  in  front  deliberately  increasing 
his  pace  walked  steadily  away,  leaving  his 
comrade  to  the  mercies  of  cold  and  drift. 
He  did  this  coward  act  Avith  the  knowledge 
that  his  com})anion  had  only  three  matches  in 
his  possession,  he  having  induced  him  to 
give  up  the  rest  to  Indians  wliom  they  had 
fallen  in  with. 

The  man  thus  abandoned  on  the  dreaded 
lake  was  a  young  Hudson's  Kay  clerk,  by  no 
means  habituated  to  the  hardships  of  such  a 
situation.  But  it  requires  little  previous  ex- 
perience to  know  when  one  is  lost.  The 
dogs  soon  began  to  wander,  and  finally 
headed  for  where  their  instinct  told  them  lay 
the  shore.  When  they  reached  the  shore 
night  had  fallen,  the  wind  liad  gone  down, 
but  still  the  cold  was  intense ;  it  was  the 
close  of  January,  the  coldest  time  of  the 
year,  when  80'^  of  frost  is  no  unusual  (jccur- 
rence.  At  such  a  time  it  was  no  easy  matter 
to  light  a  fire ;  the  numbed,  senseless  hands 
cannot  find  strength  to  strike  a  match ;  and 
many  a  time  had  I  seen  a  hardy  roydyi'iir 
fail  in  his  first  attempts  w\i\\  the  driest 
wood,  and  with  full  daylight  to  assist  him. 
loO 


THE   AVILT)   ^'()I^TII   LA^^D. 

,  liut  what  cluuice  liad  tlu'  iiicxjit'iicMirefl 
liaiid,  witli  scant  willow  sticks  for  fuel  and 
darkness  to  deceive  him?  His  wood  was 
])artly  green,  and  one  by  one  his  three  matches 
Hashed,  flickered,  and  died  out. 

No  fire,  no  food — alone  somewliere  on  Lac 
Clair  in  40'^  to  50^  below  zero !  It  was  an 
ugly  prospect.  "\Vrap])ing  himself  in  a  l)lan- 
ket,  he  got  a  dog  at  his  feet  and  lay  down. 
"With  daylight  he  was  np,  and  putting  the 
dogs  into  harness  set  out;  but  he  knew  not 
the  landmarks,  and  he  steered  heedless  of 
direction.  He  came  at  last  to  a  spring  of 
open  water;  it  was  highly  charged  with  sul- 
phur, and  hence  its  resistance  to  the  cold  f)f 
winter.  Though  it  was  nauseous  to  the  taste 
he  drank  deeply  of  it;  no  other  spring  of 
water  existed  in  all  the  wide  circle  of  the 
lake. 

For  four  days  the  wretched  man  remained 
at  this  place ;  his  sole  hope  lay  in  the  chance 
tliat  men  would  come  to  look  for  liim  from 
the  fort,  but  ere  that  would  come  about  a 
single  night  might  suffice  to  terminate  his 
existence. 

These  bad  nights  are  bad  enough  when  we 
have  all  that  food  and  fuel  can  do.  Men 
lose  their  fingers  or  their  toes  sometimes  in 
the  hours  of  wintry  daylight,  but  here  fire 
there  was  none,  and  food  without  fire  was  not 
t-o  be  liad.  The  meat  upon  the  sled  had 
151 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

frozen  almost  as  solid  as  the  stoue  of  a 
quarry. 

He  still  hoped  for  relief,  but  had  he  known 
of  the  conduct  of  the  ruffian  whose  desertion 
had  thus  brought  him  to  his  misery  his  hope 
would  have  been  a  faint  one. 

On  the  day  following  his  desertion,  the 
deserter  appeared  at  the  Quatre  Fourche ;  he 
pretended  to  be  astounded  that  his  comrade 
had  not  turned  up.  On  the  same  evening  he 
reached  Fort  Chipewyau :  he  told  a  plausible 
story  of  having  left  his  companion  smoking 
near  a  certain  spot  on  the  north  side  of  the 
lake ;  on  his  return  to  the  spot  the  sleds  were 
gone,  and.  he  at  once  concluded  they  had 
headed  for  home.     Such  was  his  tale< 

A  search  expedition  was  at  once  despatched, 
but  acting  under  the  direction  of  the  scoundrel 
Harper  no  trace  of  the  lost  man  could  be 
found. 

No  wonder!  for  the  scene  of  his  desertion 
lay  many  miles  away  to  the  south,  but  the 
villain  wished  to  give  time  for  cold  and  hun- 
ger to  do  their  work ;  not  for  any  gratification 
of  hatred  or  revenge  towards  his  late  com- 
rade, but  simply  because  "  dead  men  tell  no 
tales."  Upon  the  return  of  this  unsuccessful 
expedition  suspicions  were  aroused ;  the  man 
was  besought  to  tell  the  truth,  all  would  be 
forgiven  him  if  he  now  confessed  where  it 
was  he  had  left  his  companion.  lie  gtill 
15» 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

however  asserted  that  he  had  left  him  on  the 
shore  of  the  lake  at  a  spot  marked  by  a  single 
willow.  Again  a  search  party  goes  out,  but 
this  time  under  experienced  leadership,  and 
totally  disregarding  the  story  of  the  deserter. 

Far  down,  near  the  south  shore  of  the  lake, 
tlie  quick  eye  of  a  French  half-breed  cauglit 
tlie  faint  print  of  a  snow-shoe  edge  on  the 
liard  drifted  surface ;  he  followed  the  clue — 
another  print — and  then  another; — soon  the 
shore  was  reached,  and  the  impress  of  a  hu- 
man form  found  among  the  willows. 

Never  doubting  for  an  instant  that  the 
next  sight  would  be  the  frozen  body  of  the 
man  they  sought  for  (since  the  fireless  camp- 
ing-place showed  that  he  was  without  tlie 
means  of  making  a  fire),  the  searchers  went 
along.  They  reached  the  Sulphur  Sj)ring, 
and  tliere,  cold,  hungry,  but  safe,  sat  the  ob- 
ject of  their  search.  Five  days  had  passed, 
yet  he  had  not  frozen ! 

If  I  wished  to  learn  more  of  the  deserter 
Harper,  I  had  ample  opportuntiy  of  doiug 
so.  His  villainous  face  formed  a  prominent 
object  at  my  camp  fire.  He  was  now  tlie 
packet  bearer  to  Fort  Vermilion  on  the  Peace 
River ;  he  was  one  of  the  Avorthies  I  have  al- 
ready sjioken  of. 

We  crossed  Lac  Clair  at  a  rapid  pace,  and 
reached  at  dusk  the  nortli-western  shore;  of 
course  we  had  lost  ourselves;  but  tlie  evening 
153 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND 

was  calm  and  clear,  and  the  error  was  set 
right  by  a  two-hours'  additional  march. 

It  was  piercingly  cold  when,  some  time 
after  dark,  the  shore  was  gained ;  but  wood 
was  found  by  the  yellow  light  of  a  full  moon, 
and  a  good  camp  made  on  a  swampy  island. 
From  here  our  path  lay  through  the  woods 
and  ridges  nearly  due  Avest  again. 

On  the  fourth  day  after  leaving  Fort  Chip- 
ewyau  we  gained  a  sandy  ridge  covered  Avitli 
cypress,  and  saw  beneath  us  a  far-stretching 
valley ;  beyond,  in  the  distance  to  north  and 
west,  the  blue  ridges  of  the  Cariboo  Moun- 
tains closed  the  prospect.  In  the  valley  a 
broad  river  lay  in  long  sweeping  curves  from 
west  to  east. 

We  were  on  the  banks  of  the  I'eace  Eiver. 


154 


THE  AVILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Peace  River — Volcanos — M.  J(!an  Batiste  8t. 
Cyr — Half  a  Ijoaf  is  Better  tiiaii  No  ]5rea(l — 
An  Oasis  iu  the  Desert — Tecumseh  and  Black 
Hawk. 

It  is  possible  that  the  majority  of  my 
readers  have  never  heard  of  the  Peace  River. 
The  British  empire  is  a  large  one,  and  Brit- 
ons can  get  on  very  well  without  knowing 
much  of  any  river,  excepting  perhaps  the 
Thames,  a  knowledge  of  which,  until  lately, 
Londoners  easily  obtained  by  the  simple  pro- 
cess of  smelling.  Britannia  it  is  well  known 
rules  the  waves,  and  it  would  be  ridiculous 
to  expect  rulers  to  bother  themselves  much 
about  the  things  which  they  rule.  Per- 
chance, in  a  score  of  years  or  so,  Avhen  our 
lively  cousins  bring  forth  their  little  Alaska 
Boundary  question,  as  they  have  already 
brought  forth  their  Oregon,  Maine,  and  Sau 
Juan  boundary  questions,  Ave  may  jiay  the 
Emperor  of  Morocco,  or  some  equally  enlight- 
ened potentate,  the  compliment  of  asking  him 
to  tell  us  whether  the  Peace  River  has  always 
been  a  portion  of  the  British  em})ire?  ov 
whether  we  knew  the  meaning  of  our  own 
language  when  we  framed  the  treaty  of  1825'(' 
105 


THE    ^YILD  NORTH   LAND. 

Until  then,  the  Peace  River  may  rest  in  the 
limbo  of  obscurity;  and  in  any  case,  no  mat- 
ter who  should  claim  it,  its  very  name  must 
indicate  that  it  was  never  considered  worth 
fighting  about. 

Nevertheless  the  Peace  Eiver  is  a  large 
stream  of  water,  and  some  time  or  other  may 
be  worth  fighting  for  too.  Meantime  we  will 
have  something  to  say  about  it. 

Like  most  of  the  streams  which  form  the 
headwaters  of  the  great  Mackenzie  Eiver  sys- 
tem, the  Peace  River  has  its  sources  west  of 
the  Chipewyan  or  Rocky  Mountains.  Its 
principal  branch  springs  from  a  wild  region 
called  the  Stickeen,  an  alpine  land  almost 
wholly  unknown.  There  at  a  presumed  ele- 
vation of  6,000  feet  above  the  sea  level,  amidst 
a  vast  variety  of  mountain  peaks,  the  infant 
river  issues  from  a  lake  to  begin  its  long  voy- 
age of  2,500  miles  to  the  Arctic  Sea. 

This  region  is  the  birthplace  of  many 
rivers,  the  Yukon,  the  Liard,  the  Peace 
River,  and  countless  streams  issue  from  this 
impenetrable  fastness.  Situated  close  to  the 
Pacific  shore,  at  their  source,  these  rivers 
nevertheless  seek  far  distant  oceans.  A  huge 
barrier  rises  between  them  and  the  nearest 
coast.  The  loftiest  range  of  mountains  in 
North  America  here  finds  its  culminating 
point ;  the  coast  or  cascade  range  shoots  up 
its  volcanic  peaks  to  nigh  18,000  feet  above 
156 


THE   WILD  NOHTir   LAND. 

till'  lu'ighbouring  waves.  Mounts  Cri-Hon 
aiiil  St  Elias  cast  their  criuison  greeting  far 
over  the  gloomy  sea,  and  Ilyainnaand  Island 
Corovin  catch  up  the  flames  to  fling  them 
further  to  Kamchatka's  flre-boiuid  coast. 

The  Old  World  and  the  New  clasp  hands 
of  fire  across  the  gloomy  Northern  Sea;  and 
amidst  ice  and  flame  Asia  and  America  look 
upon  each  other. 

Through  300  miles  of  mountain  the  Peace 
Elver  takes  its  course,  countless  creeks  and 
rivers  seek  its  waters;  200  miles  from  its 
source  it  cleaves  the  main  Rocky  Mountain 
chain  through  a  chasm  whose  straight,  steep 
cliffs  frown  down  on  the  black  water  through 
0,000  feet  of  dizzy  verge.  Then  it  curves 
into  the  old  ocean  bed,  of  which  we  have 
already  spoken,  and  for  500  miles  it  flows  in 
a  deep,  narrow  valley,  from  700  to  800  feet 
beloAv  the  level  of  the  surrounding  plateau. 
Then  it  reaches  a  lower  level,  the  banks  be- 
come of  moderate  elevation,  the  country  is 
densely  wooded,  the  large  river  winds  in  ser- 
pentine bends  through  an  alluvial  valley ;  the 
current  once  so  strong  becomes  sluggish,  until 
at  last  it  pours  itself  through  a  delta  of  low- 
lying  drift  into  the  Slave  River,  and  its  long 
course  of  1,100  miles  is  ended. 

For  900  miles  only  two  interruptions  break 
the  even  flow  of  its  waters.  A  ridge  of  lime- 
stone underlies  the  whole  bed  of  the  river  at 
157 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

a  point  some  250  miles  from  its  mouth,  caus- 
ing a  fall  of  eiglit  feet  with  a  short  rapid 
above  it.  The  other  obstacle  is  the  mountain 
eaiion  on  tlie  outer  and  lower  range  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  where  a  portage  of  twelve 
miles  is  necessary. 

In  its  course  through  the  main  chain  of  the 
Rocky  INIountains  no  break  occurs,  the  cur- 
rent runs  silently  under  the  immense  preci- 
pice as  though  it  fears  to  awaken  even  by  a 
ripple  the  sleeping  giant  at  whose  feet  it 
creeps. 

Still  keeping  Avest,  we  began  to  ascend  the 
Peace  River;  we  had  struck  its  banks  more 
than  100  miles  above  its  delta,  by  making 
this  direct  line  across  Lac  Clair  and  the  in- 
tervening ridges. 

Peace  River  does  not  debouch  into  Lake 
Athabasca,  but  as  we  have  said  into  the  Slave 
River  some  twenty  miles  below  the  lake ;  at 
high  water,  however,  it  communicates  Avith 
Athabasca  through  the  canal-like  channel  of 
the  Quatre  Fourche,  and  when  water  is  low 
in  Peace  River,  Athabasca  repays  the  gift  by 
sending  back  through  the  same  channel  a 
portion  of  her  surplus  tide. 

Since  leaving  Lac  Clair  I  had  endured  no 
little  misery ;  the  effects  of  that  long  day's 
travel  from  the  river  Athabasca  had  from 
the  outset  been  apparent,  and  each  da}^  now 
further  increased  them.  The  muscles  of 
158 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

ancles  and  instep  liati  become  painfull}'  in- 
Haiued,  to  raise  the  snow-shoe  from  the 
ground  was  frequently  no  easy  matter,  and  at 
last  every  step  was  taken  in  pain.  I  eould 
not  lie  upon  my  sled  because  the  ground  was 
rough  and  broken,  and  the  sled  lApset  at 
every  hill  side  into  the  soft  snow;  besides 
there  was  the  fact  that  the  hills  were  short 
and  stee}),  and  the  dogs  could  not  easily 
have  dragged  me  to  the  summit.  There  was 
nothing  for  me  but  to  tramp  on  in  spite  of 
aching  ancles. 

At  the  camp  I  tried  my  remedies,  but  all 
were  useless.  From  pain-killer,  moose  fat, 
laudanum  and  porpoise  oil  I  concocted  a  mix- 
ture, which  I  feel  convinced  contains  a  vast 
fortune  for  any  enterprising  professor  in  the 
next  century,  and  which  even  in  these  infant 
ages  of  "  puffing  "  might  still  be  made  to  real- 
ize some  few  millions  of  dollars;  but  never- 
theless, my  poor  puffed  foot  resisted  every 
attempt  to  reduce  it  to  symmetry,  or  what 
was  more  important,  to  induce  it  to  resume 
work. 

That  sixteen-liour  day  had  inflamed  its 
worst  passions,  and  it  had  struck  for  an 
"eight-hour  movement."  One  can  afford  to 
laugh  over  it  all  now,  but  then  it  was  gloomy 
work  enough;  to  make  one  step  off  the  old 
hidden  dog-track  of  the  early  winter  was  to 
sink  instantly  into  the  soft  snow  to  the  depth 
159 


THE   WILD   ^'()1{TII   LAND. 

of  three  or  four  feet,  and  Avlien  we  camped 
at  night  on  tlie  wooded  shore,  our  blankets 
Avere  laul  in  a  deep  furrow  between  lofty 
snoAv  Avails,  Avhich  it  had  taken  us  a  full  hour 
to  scoop  out.  At  last,  after  six  days  of 
Aveary  traA-el  through  ridge  and  along  river 
reach,  Ave  dreAV  near  a  house. 

Where  tlie  little  stream  called  the  Red 
EiA^er  enters  from  the  south  the  Avide  channel 
of  the  Peace  River,  there  stands  a  small 
Hudson's  Bay  post.  Here,  on  the  e\'ening 
of  the  17th  of  March,  Ave  put  in  for  the  night. 
At  this  solitary  post  dAvelt  M.Jean  Batiste 
St.  Cyr;  an  old  and  faithful  follower  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company.  When  the  power- 
ful North-West  Fur  Company  became  merged 
into  the  Avealthier  but  less  enterprising  cor- 
poration of  the  Hudson's  Bay,  they  left  be- 
hind them  in  the  North  a  race  of  faithful 
serAdtors — men  draAvn  in  early  life  from  the 
best  rural  Jtabitans  of  LoAver  Canada — men 
worthy  of  that  old  France  from  Avliich  they 
sprung,  a  race  noAv  almost  extinct  in  the 
north,  as  indeed  it  is  almost  all  the  Avorld 
over.  What  Ave  call  "  the  spirit  of  the  age  " 
is  against  it;  faithful  service  to  poAvers  of 
earth,  or  even  to  those  of  HeaA^en,  not 
being  included  in  the  catalogue  of  A'irtues 
taught  in  the  big  school  of  modern  democ- 
racy. 

From  one  of  this  old  class  of  French 
160 


THE   WILD   NOKTII   LAND. 

Canadians,  jM.  Jean  Batiste  St.  C'yr  Avas  de- 
scended. 

Weary  limbs  and  aching  ancles  pleaded  for 
delay  at  this  little  post,  but  advancing  spring, 
and  still  more  the  repeated  assaults  of  my 
servant  and  his  comrades  upon  my  stock  of 
luxuries,  urged  movement  as  the  only  means 
of  saving  some  little  portion  of  those  good 
things  put  away  for  me  by  my  kind  host  at 
Chipewyan.  It  seems  positively  ridiculous 
now,  how  one  could  regard  the  possession  of 
flour  and  sugar,  of  sweet  cake  and  sweet 
pemmican,  as  some  of  the  most  essential 
requisites  of  life.  And  yet  so  it  was.  With 
the  grocer  in  the  neighbouring  street,  and 
the  baker  round  the  corner,  we  can  afford  to 
look  upon  flour  and  sugar  as  very  common- 
place articles  indeed ;  but  if  any  person  wishes 
to  arrive  at  a  correct  notion  of  their  true 
value  in  the  philosophy  of  life  let  him  elimi- 
nate them  from  his  daily  bill  of  fare,  and  re- 
strict himself  solely  to  moose  meat,  grease, 
and  milkless  tea.  For  a  day  or  two  he  will 
get  on  well  enough,  then  he  will  begin  to 
ponder  long  upon  bread,  cakes,  and  other 
kindred  subjects ;  until  day  by  day  he  learns 
to  long  for  bread,  then  the  Bath  buns  of  his 
earlier  years  will  float  in  enchanting  visions 
before  him;  and  like  Clive  at  the  recollection 
of  that  treasure-chamber  in  the  Moorsheda- 
bad  Palace,  he  will  marvel  at  the  moderation 
11  161 


THE  WILD  XORTH   LAND. 

which  left  untouched  a  single  cake  upon  that 
wondrous  counter. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  the  feelings 
which  influenced  a  distant  northern  Mission- 
ary, when  upon  his  return  to  semi-civiliza- 
tion, his  friends  having  prepared  a  feast  to 
bid  him  welcome,  he  asked  them  to  give  him 
bread  and  nothing  else.  He  had  been  with- 
out it  for  years,  and  his  mind  had  learned  to 
hunger  for  it  more  than  the  body. 

My  servitor,  not  content  with  living  as  his 
master  lived,  was  helping  the  other  rascals  to 
the  precious  fare.  English  half-breed,  French 
ditto,  and  full  Christian  Swampy  had  appar- 
ently formed  an  offensive  and  defensive  alli- 
ance upon  the  basis  of  a  common  rascality, 
Article  I.  of  the  treaty  having  reference  to  the 
furtive  partition  of  my  best  white  sugar, 
flour,  and  Souchong  tea;  things  which,  when 
they  have  to  be  ''portaged"  far  on  men's 
shoulders  in  a  savage  land,  are  not  usually 
deemed  fitted  for  savage  stomachs  too. 

One  night's  delay,  and  again  we  were  on 
the  endless  trail ;  on  along  the  great  silent 
river,  between  the  rigid  bordering  pines, 
amidst  the  diamond-shaped  islands  where 
the  snow  lay  deep  and  soft  in  "  shnay  "  and 
"  batture,"  on  out  into  the  long  reaches 
where  the  wild  INIarch  winds  swept  the  river 
bed,  and  wrapt  isle  and  shore  in  clouds  of 
drift. 

162 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAXD. 

Ou  the  evening  of  the  19th  of  jNIareli  our 
party  drew  near  a  lonely  post,  which,  from 
the  colour  of  the  waters  in  the  neighouring 
stream,  bears  the  name  of  Fort  Vermilion. 
The  stormy  weather  had  sunk  to  calm ;  the 
blue  sky  lay  over  mingled  forest  and  prairie; 
far  off  to  the  north  and  soutli  rose  the  dark 
outlines  of  the  Eeindeer  and  Buffalo  Moun- 
tains ;  Avhile  coming  from  the  sunset  and  van- 
ishing into  the  east,  the  great  silent  river  lay 
prone  amidst  the  wilderness  of  snow. 

A  gladsome  sight  was  the  little  fort,  with 
smoke  curling  from  its  snow-laden  roof,  its 
cattle  standing  deep  in  comfortable  straw- 
yard,  and  its  master  at  the  open  gateway, 
waiting  to  welcome  me  to  his  home :  pleasant 
to  any  traveller  in  the  wilderness,  but  doubly 
so  to  me,  whose  every  step  was  now  taken  in 
the  dull  toil  of  unremitting  pain. 

Physicians  have  termed  that  fellow-feeling 
which  the  hand  sometimes  evinces  for  the 
hand,  and  the  eye  for  the  eye,  by  the  name 
of  "  sympathy."  It  is  unfortunate  that  these 
ebullitions  of  affection  which  the  dual  mem- 
bers of  our  bodies  manifest  towards  each 
other,  should  always  result  in  doubling  the 
amount  of  pain  and  inconvenience  suffered  by 
the  remainder  of  the  human  frame.  For  a 
day  or  two  past  my  right  foot  had  shown 
symptoms  of  sharing  the  sorrows  of  its  fel- 
low-labourer;  and  however  gratifying  this 
163 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

proof  of  good  feeling  sliould  liave  been,  it 
Avas  nevertheless  accompanied  by  such  an  in- 
crease of  torture  that  one  could  not  help 
wishing  for  more  callous  conduct  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Mai  de  Kaquette. 

A  day's  journey  north  of  the  Peace  River 
at  Fort  Vermilion,  a  long  line  of  hills  ap- 
proaching the  altitude  of  a  mountain  range 
stretches  from  east  to  west.  At  the  same 
distance  south  lies  another  range  of  similar 
elevation.  The  northern  range  bears  the 
name  of  the  Eeindeer;  the  southern  one  that 
of  the  Buffalo  Mountains.  These  names 
nearly  mark  the  two  great  divisions  of  the 
animal  kingdom  of  Northern  America. 

It  is  singular  how  closely  the  habits  of 
those  two  widely  differing  animals,  the  rein- 
deer and  the  buffalo,  approximate  to  each 
other.  Each  have  their  treeless  prairie,  but 
seek  the  woods  in  winter;  each  have  their 
woodland  species;  each  separate  when  the 
time  comes  to  bring  forth  their  young ;  each 
mass  together  in  their  annual  migrations. 
Upon  both  the  wild  man  preys  in  unending 
hostility.  When  the  long  days  of  the  Arc- 
tic summer  begin  to  shine  over  the  wild  re- 
gion of  the  Barren  Grounds,  the  reindeer  set 
forth  for  the  low  shores  of  the  Northern 
Ocean ;  in  the  lonely  wilds  whose  shores  look 
out  on  the  Archipelago  where  once  the  ships 
of  England's  explorers  struggled  midst  floe 
164 


THE    WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

and  pack,  and  hopeless  iceberg,  the  herds 
spend  the  fleeting  summer  season,  subsisting 
on  the  short  grass,  which  for  a  few  weeks 
changes  these  cold,  grey  shores  to  softer 
green. 

With  the  approach  of  autumn  the  bands 
turn  south  again,  and  uniting  upon  the  bor- 
ders of  the  barren  grounds,  spend  the  winter 
in  the  forests  which  fringe  the  shores  of  the 
Bear,  Great  Slave,  and  Athabascan  Lakes. 
Thousands  are  killed  by  the  Indians  on  this 
homeward  journey;  waylaid  in  the  passes 
which  they  usually  follow,  they  fall  easy 
prey  to  Dog-rib  and  Yellow-knife  and  Chi- 
pewyan  hunter ;  and  in  years  of  plenty  the 
forts  of  the  extreme  north  count  by  thou- 
sands the  fat  sides  of  Cariboo,  piled  high  in 
their  provision  stores. 

But  although  the  hills  to  the  north  and 
south  of  Vermilion  bore  the  names  of  Rein- 
deer and  Buffalo,  upon  neither  of  these  ani- 
mals did  the  fort  depend  for  its  subsistence. 
The  Peace  River  is  the  land  of  the  moose ; 
here  this  ungainly  and  most  wary  animal  has 
made  his  home,  and  winter  and  summer, 
hunter  and  trader,  along  the  Avhole  length  of 
900  miles,  between  the  Peace  and  Athabasca, 
live  upon  his  delicious  venison. 

Two  days  passed  away  at  Fort  Vermilion; 
outside  the  March  wind  blew  in  bitter  storm, 
and  drift  piled  high  around  wall  and  pali- 
165 


THE  "WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

sade.  But  within  there  was  rest  and  quiet, 
and  many  an  anecdote  of  time  long  passed  in 
the  Wild  North  Land. 

Here,  at  this  post  of  Vermilion,  an  old  vet- 
eran spent  the  winter  of  his  life ;  and  from 
his  memory  the  scenes  of  earlier  days  came 
forth  to  interest  the  chance  wanderer,  Avhose 
footsteps  had  led  him  to  this  lonely  post. 
Few  could  tell  the  story  of  these  solitudes 
better  than  this  veteran  pensioner.  He  had 
come  to  these  wilds  while  the  century  was 
yet  in  its  teens.  He  had  seen  Tecumseh  iu 
his  glory,  and  Black  Hawk  marshal  his  Sauk 
warriors,  Avliere  now  the  river  shores  of  Illi- 
nois wave  in  long  lines  of  yellow  corn.  He 
had  spoken  with  men  who  had  seen  the  gal- 
lant La  Perouse  in  Hudson's  Bay,  when,  for 
the  last  time  in  History,  France  flew  the 
fleur-de-lis  above  the  ramparts  of  an  English 
fort  in  this  northern  land. 

The  veteran  explorers  of  the  Great  North 
had  been  familiar  to  his  earlier  days,  and  he 
could  speak  of  Mackenzie  and  Frazer  and 
Thompson,  Harmon  and  Henry,  as  men  whom 
he  had  looked  on  in  his  boyhood. 

For  me  these  glimpses  of  the  bygone  time 
had  a  strange  charm .  This  mighty  solitude, 
whose  vastness  had  worn  its  way  into  my 
mind ;  these  leagues  and  leagues  of  straight, 
tall  pines,  whose  gloomy  moan  seemed  the 
voice  of  oOO  miles  of  wilderness ;  these  rivers 
166 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

so  hushed  and  silent,  save  when  tlie  night 
owl  hooted  through  the  twilight;  all  this 
sense  of  immensity  was  so  impressed  on  the 
imagination  by  recent  travel,  that  it  height- 
ened the  rough  colouring  of  the  tale  which 
linked  this  sliadowy  land  of  the  present  with 
the  still  more  shadowy  region  of  the  past. 

Perhaps  at  another  time,  when  I  too  shall 
rest  from  travel,  it  Avill  be  my  task  to  tell 
the  story  of  these  dauntless  men ;  but  noAV, 
when  many  a  weary  mile  lies  before  me,  it  is 
time  to  hold  westward  still  along  the  great 
XJnchagah. 

The  untiring  train  was  once  again  put  into 
the  moose-skin  liarness,  after  another  night 
of  wild  storm  and  blinding  drift;  and  with 
crack  of  whip  and  call  to  dog,  Vermilion 
soon  lay  in  the  waste  behind  me. 


167 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Buffalo  Hills— A  Fatal  Quarrel— The  Exiled 
Beavers — "At-tal-loo"  Deplores  his  Wives — A 
Cree  Interior — An  Attractive  Camp — I  Camp 
Alone — Cerf-vola  without  a  Supper — The  Rec- 
reants Return — Duuvegan — A  Wolf-hunt. 

A  LONG  distance,  destitute  of  fort  or  post, 
had  now  to  be  passed.  For  fully  300  miles 
above  Vermilion,  no  sign  of  life  but  the  wild 
man  and  his  prey  (the  former  scant  enough) 
are  to  be  found  along  the  shores  of  the  Peace 
Eiver. 

The  old  fort  known  as  Dunvegan  lies 
twelve  long  Avinter  days'  travel  to  the  south- 
west, and  to  reach  it  even  in  that  time 
requires  sustained  and  arduous  exertion. 

For  200  miles  above  Vermilion  the  course 
of  the  Peace  River  is  north-west;  it  winds  in 
long,  serpentine  curves  between  banks  which 
gradually  become  more  lofty  as  the  traveller 
ascends  the  stream.  To  cut  the  long  curve 
to  the  south  by  an  overland  portage  now 
became  our  work ;  and  for  three  days  we  fol- 
lowed a  trail  through  mingled  prairie  and 
forest-land,  all  lying  deep  in  snow.  Four 
trains  of  dogs  now  formed  our  line.  An  Ojib- 
beway,  named  "  AVhite  l>ear,"  led  the  ad- 
108 


THE  AVILD   NORTH   LAND. 

vance,  and  the  trains  took  in  turn  tlie  work 
of  breaking  the  road  after  him. 

^lal  de  Ra(iuette  had  at  last  proved  more 
than  a  match  for  me,  and  Avalking  had  be- 
come impossible ;  but  the  trains  returning  to 
Dunvegan  were  lightly  loaded,  and  as  the 
officer  at  Vermilion  had  arranged  that  the 
various  dogs  should  take  their  turn  in  haul- 
ing my  cariole,  I  had  a  fresh  train  each  day, 
and  thus  Cerf-vola  and  his  company  obtained 
a  two  days'  respite  from  their  toil. 

The  old  dog  was  as  game  as  when  I  had 
first  started,  but  the  temporary  change  of 
masters  necessitated  by  our  new  arrangements 
seemed  to  puzzle  him  not  a  little ;  and  many 
a  time  his  head  would  turn  round  to  steal  a 
furtive  look  at  the  new  driver,  who,  "filled 
with  strange  oaths,"  now  ran  behind  his 
cariole.  Our  trail  led  towards  the  foot  of 
the  Buffalo  Hills.  I  was  now  in  the  country 
of  the  Beaver  Indians,  a  branch  of  the  great 
Chi])ewyan  race,  a  tribe  once  numerous  on 
the  river  which  bears  its  present  name  of 
Peace  from  the  stubborn  resistance  offered  by 
them  to  the  all-conquering  Crees — a  resist- 
ance which  induced  that  Avarlike  tribe  to 
make  peace  on  tlie  banks  of  the  river,  and  to 
leave  at  rest  the  beaver-hunters  of  the 
Unchagah. 

Since  that  time,  though  far  removed  from 
the  white  settler,  lying  remote  from  the 
169 


THE   AVILD   NORTH   LAND. 

faintest  echo  of  civilization,  this  tribe  of 
Beaver  Indians  has  steadily  decreased;  and 
to-day,  in  the  whole  length  of  900  miles  from 
beyond  the  mountains  to  the  Lake  Athabasca, 
scarce  200  families  lie  scattered  over  the  high 
prairies  and  undulating  forest  belts  of  the 
Peace  Eiver.  Now  they  live  in  peace  with 
all  men,  but  once  it  was  a  different  matter ; 
the  Cree  were  not  their  only  enemies,  their 
Chipewyau  cousins  warred  upon  them ;  and 
once  upon  a  time  a  fierce  commotion  raged 
amongst  their  own  tribe. 

One  day  a  young  chief  shot  his  arrow 
through  a  dog  belonging  to  another  brave. 
The  brave  revenged  the  death  of  his  dog,  and 
instantly  a  hundred  bows  were  drawn.  Ere 
night  had  fallen  some  eighty  Avarriors  lay 
dead  around  the  camp,  tlie  pine  woods  rang 
with  the  lamentations  of  the  women,  the 
tribe  had  lost  its  bravest  men.  There  was  a 
temporary  truce — the  friends  of  the  chief 
whose  arrow  had  killed  the  dog  yet  numbered 
some  sixty  people — it  was  agreed  that  they 
should  separate  from  the  tribe  and  seek  their 
fortune  in  the  vast  wilderness  lying  to  the 
south. 

In  the  night  they  commenced  their  march ; 
sullenly  their  brethren  saw  them  depart 
never  to  return.  They  Avent  their  way  by 
the  shores  of  the  Lesser  Slave  Lake,  towards 
^he  great  plains  wliich  were  said  to  lie  far 
170 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

southward  by  the  banks  of  the  swift-rolling 
Saskatchewan. 

The  tribe  of  Beavers  never  saw  again  this 
exiled  band,  but  a  hundred  years  later  a 
Beaver  Indian,  who  followed  the  fortunes  of 
a  white  fur-hunter,  found  himself  in  one  of 
the  forts  of  the  Saskatchewan.  Strange  In- 
dians were  canij)ed  around  the  palisades, 
they  were  portions  of  the  great  Black-feet 
tribe  whose  hunting-grounds  lay  south  of  the 
Saskatchewan  ;  among  them  were  a  few  braves 
who,  when  they  conversed  together,  spoke  a 
language  different  from  the  other  Blackfeet; 
in  this  language  the  Beaver  Indian  recognized 
his  own  tongue. 

The  fortunes  of  the  exiled  branch  were 
then  traced,  they  had  reached  the  great 
plains,  the  Blackfeet  had  protected  them,  and 
they  had  joined  the  tribe  as  allies  in  war 
against  Crees  or  Assineboines.  To-day  the 
Surcees  still  speak  the  guttural  language  of 
the  Chipewyan.  Notorious  among  the  wild 
horse-raiders  of  the  prairies,  they  outdo  even 
the  Blackfeet  in  audacious  plundering;  and 
although  the  parent  stock  on  the  Peace  River 
are  quiet  and  harmless,  the  offshoot  race 
has  long  been  a  terror  over  the  prairies  of  the 
south.  No  men  in  this  land  of  hunters  hunt 
better  than  the  Beavers,  It  is  not  uncom- 
mon for  a  single  Indian  to  render  from  his 
winter  trapping  200  marten  skins,  and  not 
ITJ 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

less  than  20,000  beavers  are  annually  killed 
by  the  tribe  on  the  waters  of  the  Peace  River. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  after  leav- 
ing Vermilion  we  fell  in  with  a  band  of  Bea- 
vers. Five  wigwams  stood  pitched  upon  a 
pretty  rising  knoll,  backed  by  pine  woods, 
which  skirted  the  banks  of  the  stream,  upon 
the  channel  of  Avhich  the  lodges  of  the  ani- 
mal beaver  rose  cone-like  above  the  snow. 

When  Ave  reached  the  camp,  "  At-tal-loo, " 
the  chief,  came  forth.  A  stranger  was  a 
rare  sight ;  and  "  At-tal-loo  "  was  bound  to 
make  a  speech;  three  of  his  warriors,  half  a 
dozen  children,  and  a  few  women  filled  up 
the  background.  Leaning  iij^on  a  long  sin- 
gle-barrelled gun  "  At-tal-loo  "  began. 

The  mayor  and  corporation  of  that  thriving 
borough  of  Porkingham  could  not  have  been 
more  solicitous  to  interrupt  a  royal  progress 
to  the  north,  than  was  this  Beaver  Indian 
anxious  to  address  the  traveller;  but  there 
was  this  difference  between  them,  whereas 
Mayor  Tomkins  had  chiefly  in  view  the  ex- 
cellent o^Dportunity  of  hearing  his  own  voice, 
utterly  unmindful  of  what  a  horrid  bore  he 
was  making  himself  to  his  sovereign,  "At- 
tal-loo  "  had  in  view  more  practical  results : 
his  frequent  iteration  of  the  word  "tea,"  in 
his  guttural  harangue,  told  at  once  the  story 
of  his  wants : — ■ 

"  This  winter  had  been  a  severe  one ;  death 
173 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

had  struck  lieavily  into  tlietril)e;  in  these 
three  wigwams  six  women  had  died.  It  was 
true  each  biave  still  had  three  or  four  wives 
left,  but  moose  were  plenty,  and  a  man  with 
six  helpmates  could  he  rich  in  dry  meat  and 
moose  leather.  Tea  was  the  pressing  want. 
Without  tea  the  meat  of  the  moose  was  in- 
sipid; without  tea  and  tobacco  the  loss  of 
even  the  fifth  or  sixth  rib  became  a  serious 
affair." 

I  endeavoured  to  find  out  the  cause  of  this 
mortality  among  the  poor  hunters,  and  it  was 
not  far  to  seek.  Constitutions  enfeebled  by 
close  intermarriage,  and  by  the  hardships  at- 
tending upon  wild  life  in  these  northern 
regions,  were  fast  wearing  out.  At  the  pres- 
ent rate  of  mortality  the  tribe  of  the  Beavers 
will  soon  be  extinct,  and  with  them  will  have 
disappeared  the  best  and  the  simplest  of  the 
nomad  tribes  of  the  north. 

"  At-tal-loo  "  was  made  happy  with  tea  and 
tobacco,  and  we  went  our  way.  Another 
doughty  chief,  named  "  Twa-i)00s, "  probably 
also  regarded  tea  as  the  elixir  of  life,  and  the 
true  source  of  happiness ;  but  as  my  servitor 
still  continued  to  regard  my  stock  of  the 
luxury  as  a  very  excellent  medium  for  the 
accumulation  of  stray  marten  skins  for  his 
own  benefit,  it  was  perhaps  as  well  that  I 
should  only  know  "  Twa-poos  "  through  the 
channel  of  hearsay. 

173 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

On  the  morning  of  tlie  25th  of  j\Iarch  we 
emerged  from  the  tortuous  little  I^utt'alo  River 
upon  the  majestic  channel  of  the  Peace.  Its 
banks  Avere  now  deeply  farrowed  beneath  the 
prairie  level,  its  broad  surface  rolled  away  to 
the  south-west,  500  yards  from  shore  to 
shore.  The  afternoon  came  forth  bright  and 
warm ;  from  a  high  ridge  on  the  left  shore  a 
far-stretching  view  lay  rolled  before  us — the 
Eagle  Hills,  the  glistening  river,  the  wide 
expanse  of  dark  forest  and  white  prairie ;  and 
above,  a  sky  which  had  caught  the  hue  and 
touch  of  spring,  while  winter  still  stood  in- 
trenched on  plain  and  river. 

Late  that  evening  we  reached  the  hut  of 
a  Cree  Indian.  A  snow-storm  closed  the 
twilight,  and  all  sought  shelter  in  the  house : 
it  was  eight  feet  by  twelve,  in  superficial  size, 
yet  nineteen  persons  lay  down  to  rest  in  it, 
a  Cree  and  his  wife,  an  Assineboine  and  his 
wife,  eight  or  ten  children,  and  any  number 
of  Swampy,  Ojibbeway,  and  half-breeds. 
Whenever  the  creaky  door  opened,  a  dozen 
dogs  found  ingress,  and  dodgeci  under  and 
over  the  men,  women,  and  children  in  hope- 
less confusion. 

The  Assineboine  squaw  seemed  to  devote 
all  her  energies  to  the  expulsion  of  the  in- 
truders; the  infants  rolled  over  the  puppy 
dogs,  the  puppy  dogs  scrambled  over  the  in- 
fants, and  outside  in  the  snow  and  on  the 
174 


THE   WILD   NORTH    LAXD. 

low  root'  CeiT-vulii  ;ui(l  liis  fiieiuls  did  Ijatilc 
with  a  liost  of  Iiuliau  dogs.  80  the  night 
passed  away.  Next  moniing  there  was  no 
track.  We  waded  deep  in  the  snow,  and 
made  but  slow  progress.  Things  had  reached 
a  climax  with  my  crew ;  they  had  apparently 
made  up  their  minds  to  make  a  long,  slow 
journey.  They  wanted  to  camp  at  any  In- 
dian lodge  they  saw,  to  start  late  and  to 
camp  early,  to  eat,  smoke,  and  talk,  to  do 
everything  in  fact  but  travel. 

I  was  still  nearly  150  miles  from  Dunve- 
gan,  and  as  much  more  from  tliat  mountain 
range  whose  defiles  I  hoped  to  reach  ere  the 
ice  road  on  which  I  travelled  had  turned  to 
a  rushing  stream.  Already  the  sun  shone 
strong  in  the  early  afternoon,  and  the  surface 
snow  grew  moist  under  liis  warm  rays,  and 
here  were  my  men  ready  to  seek  any  excuse 
for  loitering  on  the  way. 

About  noon  one  day  we  reached  a  camp  of 
Crees  on  the  south  shore  of  the  river. 
Moose-meat  was  getting  scarce,  so  I  asked  my 
yellow  rascal  to  procure  some  tit-bits  from 
the  camp  in  exchange  for  tea.  The  whole 
party  at  once  vanished  into  the  tents,  while 
I  remained  with  the  dogs  upon  the  river. 
Presently  my  friend  reappeared ;  he  "  could 
only  get  a  rib-piece  or  a  tough  leg. "  "  Then 
don't  take  them,"  I  said.  I  saw  the  rascal 
was  at  his  old  work,  so  taking  some  tea  and 
175 


THE   WILD   NOT^TII  LAXD. 

tobacco,  I  went  up  myself  to  tlie  tents; 
lueantiuie  the  men,  women,  and  children  had 
all  come  out  to  the  shore.  I  held  u})  the  tea 
and  pointed  to  the  moose-meat;  in  an  instant 
the  scene  changed — briskets,  tongues,  and 
moose-noses  were  brought  out,  and  I  could 
have  loaded  my  dogs  with  tit-bits  had  I 
wished ;  still  I  pretended  to  find  another  mo- 
tive for  my  henchman's  conduct.  "See,"  I 
said  to  him,  "  I  make  a  better  trader  with 
Indians  than  you  do.  They  would  only  give 
you  the  tough  bits ;  I  can  get  noses  enough  to 
load  my  dogs  Avith." 

But  the  camp  possessed  an  attraction  still 
more  enticing ;  early  that  morning  I  had  ob- 
served the  Indians  and  half-breeds  arraying 
themselves  in  their  gayest  trappings.  The 
half-breed  usually  in  dressing  himself  devotes 
the  largest  share  of  attention  to  the  decora- 
tion of  his  legs ;  beads,  buckles,  and  embroid- 
ered ribbons  flutter  from  his  leggings,  and  his 
garters  are  resplendent  with  coloured  worsted 
or  porcupine-quill  work. 

These  items  of  finery  had  all  been  donned 
this  morning  in  camp,  the  long  hair  had  been 
carefully  smeared  with  bear's  fat,  and  then 
I  had  not  long  to  wait  for  an  explanation  of 
all  this  adornment.  In  one  of  the  three  Cree 
tents  there  dwelt  two  good-looking  squaws ; 
we  entered  this  tent,  the  mats  were  unrolled, 
the  fire  replenished,  and  the  squaws  set  to 
176 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

work  to  cook  a  moose  nose  and  tongue  for 
nvy  dinner.  Dinner  over,  the  difficulty  be- 
gan ;  the  quarters  were  exceHent  in  the  esti- 
mation of  my  men.  It  Avould  be  the  wildest 
insanity  to  think  of  quitting  such  a  paradise 
of  love  and  food  under  at  least  a  twenty-four 
hours'  delay. 

So  they  suddenly  announced  their  inten- 
tion of  "  bideing  a  wee. "  I  endeavoured  to  ex- 
postulate, I  spoke  of  the  lateness  of  the 
season,  the  distance  I  had  yet  to  travel,  the 
necessity  of  bringing  to  Dunvegan  the  train 
of  dogs  destined  for  that  post  at  the  earliest 
period;  all  was  of  no  avail.  Their  snow- 
shoes  were  broken  and  they  must  wait.  Very 
good ;  put  my  four  dogs  into  harness,  and  I 
will  go  on  alone.  '  So  the  dogs  were  put  in 
harness,  and  taking  with  me  my  most  loota- 
ble  effects,  I  set  out  alone  into  the  wilderness. 

It  still  wanted  some  four  hours  of  sunset 
when  I  left  the  Indian  lodges  on  the  south 
shore,  and  held  my  way  along  the  far-reach- 
ing river. 

My  poor  old  dog,  after  a  few  glances  back 
to  see  why  he  should  be  alone,  settled  him- 
self to  work,  and  despite  a  lameness,  the 
result  of  long  travel,  he  led  the  advance  so 
gamely  that  when  night  fell  some  dozen 
miles  lay  between  us  and  the  Cree  lodges. 

At  the  foot  of  a  high  ridge  whose  summit 
still  caught  the  glow  from  the  low-set  sun, 
12  177 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

while  the  river  valley  grew  dark  in  the  twi- 
light, I  turned  the  dogs  towards  the  south 
shore,  and  looked  about  for  a  camping-place. 
The  lower  bank  sloped  doAvn  to  the  ice 
abruptly,  but  dogs  going  to  camp  will  drag  a 
load  up,  over,  or  through  anything,  and  the 
prospect  of  rest  above  is  even  a  greater  in- 
centive to  exertion  than  the  fluent  impreca- 
tions of  the  half-breed  below.  So  by  dint  of 
hauling  we  reached  the  top,  and  then  I  made 
my  camp  in  a  pine-clump  on  the  brink. 
When  the  dogs  had  been  unharnessed,  and 
the  snow  dug  away,  tlie  pine  brush  laid  upon 
the  ground,  and  the  wood  cut,  when  the  Are 
was  made,  the  kettle  filled  with  snow  and 
boiled,  the  dogs  fed  with  a  good  hearty  meal 
of  dry  moose  meat,  and  my  own  hunger  sat- 
isfied ;  then  it  was  time  to  think,  while  the 
fire  lit  up  the  pine  stems,  and  the  last  glint 
of  daylight  gleamed  in  the  western  sky,  A 
jagged  pine-top  laid  its  black  cone  against 
what  had  been  the  sunset.  An  owl  from  the 
opposite  shore  sounded  at  intervals  his  lonely 
call;  now  and  again  a  passing  breeze  bent 
the  fir-trees  until  they  whispered  forth  that 
mournful  song  which  seems  to  echo  from  the 
abyss  of  the  past. 

The  fir-tree  is  the  oldest  of  the  trees  of  the 

earth,    and   its   look  and   its    voice  tell  the 

story  of  its  age.     If  it  were  possible  to  have 

left  my  worthless  half-breeds  altogether  and 

178 


THE   WILD   NOllTII   LAND. 

to  traverse  the  solitudes  alone,  how  gladly 
would  I  have  done  so ! 

I  felt  at  last  at  home.  The  i;-rfat  silent 
river,  the  lofty  ridge  darkening  against  the 
twilight,  yon  star  burning  like  a  beaeon  above 
the  precipice — all  these  Avere  friends,  and 
midst  them  one  could  rest  in  peace. 

And  now,  as  I  run  back  in  thought  along 
that  winter  journey,  and  see  again  the  many 
camp-fires  glimmering  through  the  waste  of 
wilderness  there  comes  not  to  my  memory  a 
calmer  scene  than  that  which  closed  around 
my  lonely  fire  by  the  distant  Unchagah.  I 
was  there  almost  in  the  centre  of  the  vast 
wilderness  of  North  America,  around, 
stretched  in  silence,  that  mystery  we  term 
Nature,  that  thing  which  we  see  in  pictures, 
in  landscapes,  in  memory;  which  W'e  hear  in 
the  voice  of  wind-swept  forests  and  the  long 
sob  of  seas  against  ocean  rocks.  This 
mother,  ever  present,  ever  mysterious,  some- 
times terrible,  often  tender — always  beautiful 
— stood  there  with  nought  to  come  between  us 
save  loneliness  and  twilight.  I  awoke  with 
the  dawn.  Soft  snow  was  falling  on  river 
and  ridge,  and  the  opposite  shore  lay  hid  in 
mist  and  gloom.  A  breakfast,  which  con- 
sists of  pemmican,  tea,  and  biscuit,  takes  but 
a  short  time  to  prepare  or  to  discuss,  and  by 
sunrise  I  was  on  the  river. 

Until  mid-day  I  held  on,  but  before  that 
179 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

time  tlie  sun  glowed  l^rightly  on  the  dazzling 
surface  of  the  snow ;  and  the  dogs  panted  as 
they  liauled  their  loads,  biting  frequent 
mouthfuls  of  the  soft  snow  through  which 
they  toiled. 

About  noon  I  camped  on  the  south  shore. 
I  had  still  two  meals  for  myself,  but  none 
remained  for  the  dogs;  the  men  had,  how- 
ever, assured  me  that  they  would  not  fail  to 
make  an  early  start,  and  I  determined  to 
await  their  coming  in  this  camp.  The  day 
passed  and  night  closed  again,  but  no  figure 
darkened  the  long  stretch  of  river,  and  my 
poor  dogs  went  supperless  to  sleep.  Cerf- 
vola,  it  is  true,  had  some  scraps  of  sweet 
pemmican,  but  they  were  mere  drops  in  the 
ocean  of  his  appetite.  The  hauling-dog  of 
the  North  is  a  queer  animal  about  food; 
when  it  is  there  he  likes  to  have  it,  but  when 
it  isn't  there,  like  his  Indian  master,  he  can 
do  without  it. 

About  supper-hour  he  looks  wistfully  at 
his  master,  and  seeing  no  sign  of  pemmican- 
chopping  or  dry  meat-slicing,  he  rolls  himself 
up  into  a  ball  and  goes  quietly  to  sleep  in  his 
snow  bed. 

Again  the  night  came  softly  down,  the 
grey  owl  hooted  his  lonely  cry,  the  breeze 
stirred  the  forest  tops,  and  the  pine-tree  mur- 
mured softly  and  low,  singing  its  song  of  the 
past  to  the  melody  of  its  myriad  years.  At 
180 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

such  times  the  mmcl  of  the  wanderer  sings 
its  own  song  too.  It  is  the  song  of  home ; 
and  as  memory  rings  the  cadence,  time  and 
distance  disappear,  and  the  okl  land  brightens 
forth  amidst  the  embers  of  the  forest-fire. 

These  islands  which  we  call  "home  "are 
far  away;  afar  off  we  idealize  them,  in  the 
forest  depths  we  dream  bright  visions  of  their 
firesides  of  welcome;  in  the  snow-sheeted 
lake,  and  the  icy  stretch  of  river,  and  the 
motionless  muskeg,  how  sweetly  sound  the 
notes  of  brook  and  bird ;  how  brightly  rise 
the  glimpses  of  summer  eves  when  the  white 
mists  float  over  the  scented  meadows,  and 
the  corn-craik  sounds  from  his  lair  in  the 
meadow-sweet ! 

It  is  there,  away  in  the  east,  far  off,  where 
the  moon  is  rising  above  the  forked  pines,  or 
the  up-coming  stars  edge  the  ice  piles  on  the 
dim  eastern  shores  of  yon  sheeted  lake.  Far 
away,  a  speck  amidst  the  waves  of  distance, 
bright,  happy,  and  peaceful;  holding  out  its 
Avelcome,  and  following  with  its  anxious 
thoughts  the  Avanderer  who  sails  away  over 
the  ocean,  and  roams  the  expanses  of  the 
earth. 

Well,  some  fine  day  we  come  back  again ; 
the  great  steam-ship  touches  the  long  ideal- 
ized shore.  Gods,  how  the  scene  clianges! 
We  feel  bursting  with  joy  to  see  it  all  again, 
to  say,  "  Oh !  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  all !  " 

m 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

We  say  it  with  our  eyes  to  the  young  lady 
behind  the  refreshment  buffet  at  the  railroad 
station.  Alas!  she  mistakes  our  exuber- 
ance for  impertinence,  and  endeavours  to  an- 
nihilate us  with  a  glance,  enough  to  freeze 
even  her  high-spirited  sherry.  We  pass  the 
bobby  on  his  beat  with  a  smile  of  recognition, 
but  that  ferocious  functionary,  not  a  whit 
softened,  regards  us  as  a  "  party  "  likely  to 
afford  him  transient  employment  in  the  mat- 
ter of  "running  in."  The  railway  porter 
alone  seems  to  enter  into  our  feelings  of  joy, 
but  alas !  it  is  only  with  a  view  to  that  dona- 
tion with  which  we  are  sure  to  present  him. 
We  have  enlisted  his  sympathies  as  her  Maj- 
esty enlists  her  recruits,  by  the  aid  of  a  shil- 
ling. Ere  an  hour  has  passed,  the  vision  seen 
so  frequently  through  the  mist  of  weary 
miles  has  vanished,  and  we  have  taken  our 
place  in  the  vast  humming  crowd  of  Eng- 
land's hive,  to  wish  ourselves  back  into  the 
dreamy  solitudes  again. 

I  had  been  asleep  some  hours,  and  mid- 
night had  come,  when  the  sound  of  voices 
roused  me,  and  my  recreant  band  ai)proached 
the  dying  camp-lire.  They  had  at  length 
torn  themselves  away  from  the  abode  of  bliss 
and  moose  meat,  but  either  the  memory  of 
its  vanished  pleasures,  or  a  stray  feeling  of 
shame,  ke]jt  them  still  sullen  and  morose. 
They,  however,  announced  theiv  readiness  to' 
183 


THE    WILD   NORTJJ    LAND. 

go  on  at  once  as  the  crust  upon  tlic  snow  was 
now  hard.  I  rose  from  my  robe,  gave  the 
dogs  a  late  supper,  and  once  more  we  set  out. 

Daylight  found  us  still  upon  the  track; 
the  men  seemed  disposed  to  make  amends  for 
former  dilatoriness,  the  ice-crust  was  hard, 
and  the  dogs  went  well.  When  the  sun  had 
become  warm  enough  to  soften  the  surface  we 
camped,  had  supper,  and  lay  down  to  sleep 
for  the  day. 

With  sunset  came  the  hour  of  starting,  and 
thus  turning  night  into  day,  breakfasting  at 
sunset,  dining  at  midnight,  supping  at  sunrise, 
travelling  all  night,  and  slee^iing  all  day,  we 
held  our  way  up  the  Unchagah.  Three 
nights  of  travel  passed,  and  the  morning  of 
the  1st  of  April  broke  upon  the  silent  river. 
AVe  had  travelled  well ;  full  one  hundred  miles 
of  these  lonely,  lofty  shores  had  vanished  be- 
hind us  in  the  grey  dusky  light  of  twilight, 
night,  and  early  morning. 

As  the  dawn  broke  in  the  east,  and  gradu- 
ally grew  into  a  broader  band  of  light,  the 
huge  ramparts  of  the  lofty  shores  wore 
strange,  unearthly  aspects.  Six  hundred  feet 
above  the  ice,  wind  and  sun  had  already 
swept  the  snow,  and  the  bare  hill-tops  rose 
■to  view,  free,  at  last,  from  winter's  covering. 

Lower  down  full  many  a  rugged  ridge, 
and  steej),  scarped  precipice,  held  its  clinging 
growth  of  pine  and  poi)lar,  or  showed  gigan- 
183 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

tic  slides,  upon  whose  gravelly  surface  the 
loosened  stones  rolled  with  sullen  echo,  into 
the  river  chasm  beneath.  Between  these 
huge  walls  lay  the  river,  broadly  curving 
from  the  west,  motionless  and  soundless,  as 
we  swept  with  rapid  stride  over  its  sleeping 
waters. 

Sometimes  in  the  early  morning,  upon 
these  steep  ridges,  the  moose  would  emerge 
from  his  covert,  and  look  down  on  the  pass- 
ing dog  trains,  his  huge,  ungainly  head  out- 
stretched to 

"Sniff  the  tainted  gale," 

his  great  ears  lying  forward  to  catch  the 
faint  jingle  of  our  dog-bells.  Nearly  all  else 
seemed  to  sleep  in  endless  slumber,  for, 
alone  of  summer  denizens,  the  owl,  the 
moose,  the  wolf,  and  the  raven  keep  winter 
watch  over  the  wilderness  of  the  Peace 
River. 

At  daybreak,  on  the  1st  of  April,  we  were 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Smoking  River.  This 
stream  enters  the  Peace  River  from  the  south- 
west. It  has  its  source  but  a  couple  of  days' 
journey  north  of  the  Athabasca  River,  at  the 
spot  Avherethat  river  emerges  from  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  And  it  drains  the  beautiful  re- 
gion of  varied  prairie  and  forest-l^nd,  which 
lies  at  the  base  of  the  mountains  bet^y^en  the 
J*eace  and  Athabasca  rivers, 
184 


THE   AVILD   NORTH   LAND. 

The  men  made  a  long  march  this  day. 
Inspired  by  the  offer  of  a  gratuity,  if  they 
could  make  the  fort  by  night-time,  and 
anxious,  perhaps,  to  atone  for  past  shortcom- 
ings, they  made  up  a  train  of  five  strong 
dogs. 

Setting  out  with  this  train  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  three  of  them  held  the  pace 
so  gamely  that  when  evening  closed  we 
were  in  sight  of  the  lofty  ridge  which  over- 
hangs at  the  north  shore,  the  fort  of  Dun- 
vegan. 

As  the  twilight  closed  over  the  broad  river 
we  were  steering  between  two  huge  walls  of 
sandstone  rock,  which  towered  up  700  feet 
above  the  shore. 

The  yellow  light  of  the  sunset  still  glowed 
in  the  west,  lighting  up  the  broad  chasm 
through  which  the  river  flowed,  and  throwing 
many  a  weird  shadow  along  the  basaltic 
precipice.  Right  in  our  onward  track  stood 
a  large  dusky  wolf.  He  watched  us  until  we 
approached  within  200  yards  of  him,  then 
turning  he  held  his  course  up  the  centre  of 
the  river.  My  five  dogs  caught  sight  of 
him,  and  in  an  instant  they  gave  chase. 
The  surface  of  the  snow  was  now  hard  frozen, 
and  urged  by  the  strength  of  so  many  dogs 
the  cariole  flew  along  over  the  slippery  sur- 
face. 

The  driver  was  soon  far  behind.  The 
180 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

wolf  kept  the  centre  of  the  river,  and  the 
cariole  bounded  from  snow  pack  to  snow 
pack,  or  shot  along  the  level  ice ;  while  the 
dusky  twilight  filled  the  deep  chasm  with  its 
spectral  light.  But  this  wild  chase  was  not 
long  to  last.  The  wolf  sought  refuge  amidst 
the  rocky  shore,  and  the  dogs  turned  along 
the  trail  again. 

Two  hours  later  a  few  lights  glimmered 
through  the  darkness,  beneath  the  black  shad- 
ow of  an  immense  hill.  The  unusual  sound 
of  rushing  water  broke  strangely  on  the  ear 
after  such  a  lapse  of  silence.  But  the  hill 
streams  had  already  broken  their  icy  barriers, 
and  their  waters  were  even  now  hastening  to 
the  great  river  (still  chained  with  the  gyves 
of  winter),  to  aid  its  hidden  current  in  the 
work  of  deliverance. 

Here  and  there  deep  pools  of  water  lay  on 
the  surface  of  the  ice,  through  which  the 
dogs  waded,  breast  deep,  and  the  cariole 
floated  like  a  boat.  Thus,  alternately  Avad- 
ing  and  sliding,  we  drew  near  the  glimmering 
lights. 

We  had  reached  Dun  vegan !  If  the  men 
and  dogs  slept  well  that  night  it  was  little 
wonder.  With  the  intermission  only  neces- 
sary for  food,  Ave  had  travelled  incessantly 
during  four-and-twenty  hours.  Yet  was  it 
the  same  that  night  at  Dunvegan  as  it  had 
been  elsewhere  at  various  times.  Outside 
18G 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

the  dogs  might  rest  as  they  ])lease(l,  but 
Avithin,  in  the  huts,  Swampy  and  Half-breed 
and  Ojibbeway  danced  and  fiddled,  laughed 
and  capered  until  the  small  hours  of  the 
morning. 


1«7 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Alexander  IMjickeiizie — The  First  Sign  of  Spring — 
Spanker  the  Suspicious — Cerf -vola  Contemplates 
Cutlets — An  Indian  Hunter — "Encumbrances" 
—Furs  and  Finery— A  "  Dead  Fall  "—The  Fur 
Trade  at  Botli  Ends— An  Old  Fort— A  Night 
Attack — Wife-lifting — Cerf-vola  in  Difficulties 
and  Boots — The  Rocky  Mountains  at  Last. 

About  eighty  years  ago  a  solitary  canoe 
floated  on  the  waters  of  the  Peace  River. 
Eight  sturdy  Iroquois  or  Canadians  moved  it 
with  dexterous  paddle ;  in  the  centre  sat  the 
figure  of  a  European,  busy  with  field-book 
and  compass. 

He  was  a  daring  Scotchman  from  the  isles, 
by  name  Alexander  JNIackenzie.  He  was 
pushing  his  Avay  slowly  to  the  West;  before 
him  all  was  vague  conjecture.  There  was  a 
mighty  range  of  mountains  the  Indians  said 
— a  range  through  which  the  river  flowed  in 
a  profound  chasm — beyond  that  all  was  mys- 
tery ;  but  other  wild  men,  who  dwelt  west- 
Avard  of  the  chasm,  in. a  land  of  mountains, 
had  told  them  tales  of  another  big  river  flow- 
ing toward  the  mid-day  sun  into  the  lake 
that  had  no  shore. 

This  dariug  explorer  built  himself  a  house 
188 


THE    WILD   NORTH   I.AXD. 

not  far  below  tlie  spot  where  my  recreant 
crew  had  found  a  i)aradi,se  in  tlu!  wilderness; 
here  he  passed  the  winter.  Early  in  the  J'ol- 
lowing  spring  he  continued  his  ascent  ot  the 
river.  He  was  the  first  r]nglishnian  that 
ever  passed  the  Rocky  Mountains.  He  was 
the  first  man  who  crossed  the  Northern  Con- 
tinent. 

His  footsteps  were  quickly  followed  by 
men  almost  as  resolute.  Findlay,  Frazer, 
and  Thompson  soon  carried  tlie  fortunes  of 
the  North- West  Company  through  the  defiles 
of  the  Peace  River ;  and  long  before  Jacob 
Astor  had  dreamt  his  dream  of  Columbian 
fur  trade,  these  men  had  planted  on  the  wild 
shores  of  New  Caledonia  and  Oregon  the  first 
germs  of  English  domination ;  little  dream- 
ing, doubtless,  as  they  did  so,  that  in  after- 
time,  between  dulness  upon  one  side  and  du- 
plicity on  the  other,  the  fruits  of  their  labour 
and  their  sufferings  would  pass  to  hostile 
hands. 

From  its  earliest  days,  the  fur  trade  of  the 
North  had  been  carried  on  from  bases  which 
moved  north  with  the  tide  of  exploration. 
The  first  French  adventurers  had  made  Ta- 
dousac,  at  the  mouth  of  the  rock-shadowed 
Saguenay,  the  base  of  their  operations ;  later 
on,  Montreal  had  been  their  point  of  distribu- 
tion ;  then  Mackenaw,  between  Lakes  Michi- 
gan and  Huron.  With  the  fall  of  French 
189 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

dominion  in  17(>2  the  trade  passed  to  English 
hands,  and  Fort  William  on  Lake  Superior, 
and  Fort  Chipewyan  on  Lake  Athabasca,  be- 
came in  time  centres  of  fur  trade. 

It  was  from  the  latter  place  that  Macken- 
zie and  his  successors  pushed  their  explora- 
tions to  the  distant  shores  of  Arctic  and 
Pacilic  Oceans,  Among  the  earlier  posts 
which  these  men  established  in  the  Great 
Wilderness  was  this  fort,  called  Dunvegan, 
on  the  Peace  River.  A  McLeod,  of  Skye, 
founded  the  post,  and  named  it  after  the 
wild,  storm-swept  fortalice  which  the  chief 
of  his  race  in  bygone  times  had  reared  upon 
the  Atlantic  verge.  As  Dunvegan  was  then, 
so  it  is  to-day ;  half  a  dozen  little  houses 
roofed  with  pine-bark;  in  front,  the  broad 
river  in  its  deep-cut  gorge ;  behind,  an 
abrupt  ridge  700  feet  in  height,  at  the  top  of 
which  a  rolling  table-land  spreads  out  into 
endless  distance. 

Unlike  the  prairies  of  the  Saskatchewan, 
this  plateau  is  thickly  interspersed  with 
woods  and  thickets  of  pine  and  poplar.  Its 
many  lakes  are  free  from  alkali,  and  the 
varied  growth  of  willows  which  they  sustain, 
yield  ample  sustenance  to  the  herds  of  moose 
which  still  roam  the  land.  The  deep  trough 
through  which  the  river  flows  increases  with 
singular  regularity  as  the  traveller  ascends 
the  stream.  Thus  at  Vermilion  the  banks 
190 


i 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

ave  seareely  tliirty  feet  above  low-watev  level ; 
L'OO  miles  higlier  up  they  rise  to  oHO  feet; 
at  Diiuvegaii  tliey  are  720;  and  H)0  miles 
still  further  west  they  attain  an  elevation  of 
900  and  1,000  feet.  Onee  upon  tlie  summit, 
however,  no  indication  of  ruggedness  meets 
the  eye.  The  country  spreads  into  a  succes- 
sion of  prairies,  lakes,  and  copses,  through 
which  the  traveller  can  ride  with  ease,  safe 
from  the  badger-holes  which  form  such  an 
objectionable  feature  in  more  southern 
prairies.  At  times  the  river-bed  fills  up  the 
entire  bottom  of  the  deep  valley  through 
which  it  runs ;  but  more  frequently  a  wooded 
terrace  lies  between  the  foot  of  the  ridge  and 
the  brink  of  the  water,  or  the  land  rises  to 
the  upper  level  in  a  series  of  rounded  and 
less  abrupt  ascents.  The  soil  is  a  dark  sandy 
loam,  the  rocks  are  chiefly  lime  and  sand- 
stone, and  the  numerous  slides  and  huge 
landslips  along  the  lofty  shores,  render  visible 
strata  upon  strata  of  many-coloured  earths 
and  layers  of  rock  and  shingle,  lignite  and 
banded  clays  in  rich  succession.  A  black, 
bituminous  earth  in  many  places  forces  its 
way  through  rock  or  shingle,  and  runs  in  long, 
dark  streaks  down  the  steep  descent.  Such 
is  the  present  aspect  of  the  Peace  River,  as 
lonely  and  silent  it  holds  its  long  course,  deep 
furrowed  below  the  unmeasured  wilderness. 
April  had  come;  already  the  sun  shone 
191 


THE  AVILD   XORTII   LAND. 

warmly  in  the  midday  hoars;  already  the 
.streams  were  beginning  to  fnrrow  the  grey 
overhanging  hills,  from  whose  sonthern  sides 
the  snow  had  vanished,  save  where  in  ravine 
or  hollow  it  lay  deep,  drifted  by  the  Avinter 
winds ;  but  the  river  was  not  to  be  thus  easily 
ronsed  from  the  sleep  into  which  the  Arctic 
cold  had  cast  it.  Solid  under  its  Aveight  of 
ice,  four  feet  in  thickness,  it  would  yet  lie 
for  days  in  motionless  torpor.  Snow  might 
fly  from  sky  and  hill-top,  prairie  and  forest 
might  yield  to  the  soft  coming  spring;  but 
like  a  skilful  general  grim  winter  only  drew 
off  his  forces  from  outlying  points  to  make 
his  last  stand  in  the  intrenchments  of  the 
frozen  river. 

From  the  summit  of  the  steep  hill,  whose 
scarped  front  looks  down  upon  the  little  huts 
of  Dunvegan,  the  eye  travels  over  many  a 
mile  of  wilderness,  but  no  hill  top  darkens 
the  far  horizon ;  and  the  traveller,  whose 
steps  for  months  have  followed  the  western 
sun,  feels  half  inclined  to  doubt  the  reality 
of  the  mountain  barrier  he  has  so  long  looked 
in  vain  for.  So  it  seemed  to  me,  as  I 
scanned  one  evening  the  long  line  of  the 
western  sky  from  this  lofty  ridge. 

Nineteen  hundred  miles  behind  me  lay  that 
]\Iusk  Rat  Creek,  by  whose  banks  on  that  now 
distant  day  in  October,  I  had  bidden  civiliza- 
tion a  long  good-bye. 

193 


THE  WILD   NOKTII   LAND. 

Pniirie  and  lakelet,  broad  river,  vast  for- 
est, dim  spreading  lake,  silent  ridge  and 
waste  of  wilderness — all  lay  deep  sunken 
again  in  that  slumber  from  which  my  lonely 
passage  had  for  a  moment  roused  them. 

Different  faces  had  at  times  accompanied 
me ;  various  dogs  had  toiled  and  tugged  at 
the  oaken  sled,  or  lain  at  niglit  around  the 
wintry  camp-fires ;  and  yet,  still  remote  lay 
that  giant  range,  for  whose  defiles  my  steps 
had  so  long  been  bound.  But  amid  all 
changes  of  time  and  place  and  persons,  two 
companions  still  remained  with  me.  Cerf- 
vola  the  Untiring,  Spanker  the  Suspicious, 
still  trotted  as  briskly  as  when  they  had 
quitted  their  Dakotan  home.  If  I  should 
feel  inclined  to  doubt  their  strength  and 
vigour,  I  had  only  to  look  down  the  hill- side 
to  read  a  reassurance — a  couple  of  hundred 
feet  beneath  where  I  stood.  There  Spanker 
the  suspicious  might  have  been  observed  in 
company  with  two  other  savages,  doing  his 
utmost  to  terminate  the  career  of  a  yearling 
calf,  which  early  spring  had  tempted  to  the 
hill-top.  It  was  consolatory  to  notice  that 
Cerf-vola  the  untiring  took  no  part  in  this 
nefarious  transaction.  He  stood  apart,  watch- 
ing it  with  a  countenance  expressive  of  emo- 
tions which  might  be  read,  either  in  the  light 
of  condemnation  of  cruelty,  or  commendation 
of  coming  veal  cutlets. 
13  193 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

About  midiiiglit  on  the  3r(I  of  April  I 
quitted  Duuvegan,  and  turned  oiice  more 
along  tlie  frozen  river.  The  moon,  verging 
to  its  first  quarter,  shone  above  the  southern 
shore,  lighting  half  the  river,  while  the  re- 
mainder lay  wrapped  in  darkness. 

A  half-breed  named  Kalder  accompanied 
me — my  former  servitor  having  elected  to 
remain  at  Dun  vegan.  He  had  probably  heard 
strange  stories  of  life  beyond  the  mountains. 
"  Miners  were  fond  of  shooting ;  to  keep  their 
hand  and  eye  in  practice  they  would  shoot 
him  as  soon  as  they  caught  sight  of  him," 
so  it  would  perhaps  be  wiser  to  stay  on  the 
eastern  slope.  He  remained  behind,  and 
William  Kalder,  a  Scotch  half-breed,  who 
spoke  French  in  addition  to  his  Indian 
tongue,  reigned  in  his  stead. 

Above  Dunvegan,  the  Peace  is  a  rapid 
river.  We  decided  to  travel  by  moonlight 
only,  and  in  the  morning,  as  many  places 
had  already  become  unsound ;  a  great  quan- 
tity of  water  lay  on  the  surface  of  the  ice, 
and  wet  moccasins  and  heavy  snow-shoes  be- 
came our  constant  companions.  By  daybreak, 
however,  all  water  would  be  frozen  solid,  and 
except  for  the  effect  of  the  sharp  ice  on  the 
dogs'  feet,  the  travelling  was  excellent  at 
that  hour. 

At  daybreak  on  the  fourth  we  heard  ahead 
a  noise  of  barking,  and  presently  from  the 
194 


THE  WILD   NOlITir   LAND. 

wooded  slicre  a  moose  broke  forth  upon  the 
river.  The  crusted  snow  broke  beneath  his 
weight,  and  lie  turned  at  bay  near  the  south- 
ern shore.  We  were  yet  a  long  way  off,  and 
we  hurried  on  as  fast  as  dogs  could  run. 
"When  we  had  reached  within  a  couple  of 
hundred  yards  of  where  he  stood  butting  the 
dogs,  a  shot  rang  sharply  from  the  woods; 
the  unshapely  animal  still  kept  his  head 
lowered  to  his  enemies,  but  the  shot  had 
struck,  for  as  we  came  panting  up,  he  rolled 
heavily  amidst  his  baying  enemies,  who 
closed  around  him  while  the  blood  bubbled 
fast  over  the  pure  frosted  snow.  Above,  on 
the  wooded  banks,  under  a  giant  pine,  sat  a 
young  Indian  quietly  regarding  his  quarry. 
Not  a  move  of  limb  or  countenance  betokened 
excitement ;  his  face  was  flushed  by  a  long 
quick  chase  down  the  rugged  hill-side ;  but 
now,  though  his  game  lay  stretched  beneath 
him,  he  made  no  outward  sign  of  satisfac- 
tion. He  sat  unmoved  on  the  rock  above, 
his  long  gun  balanced  above  his  knee — the 
fitting  background  to  a  picture  of  wild  sport 
in  the  wilderness.  It  was  now  the  time 
when  the  Indians  leave  their  winter  hunting- 
grounds  and  make  a  journej-to  the  forts  with 
the  produce  of  their  season's  toil.  They 
come,  a  motley  throng;  men,  women  and 
children ;  dogs,  sleds  and  hand-toboggans, 
bearing  the  precious  freight  of  fur  to  the  trad- 
193 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

ing-post,  bringing  in  tbe  harvest  of  marten- 
skins  from  the  vast  field  of  the  desert  wilds. 

O'l  this  morning,  ere  we  reached  our  camj:)- 
ing  place,  a  long  cavalcade  passed  us.  A 
couple  of  braves  in  front,  too  proud  and  lazy 
to  carry  anything  but  their  guns ;  then  old 
women  and  young  ones,  bending  under  their 
loads,  or  driving  dogs,  or  hauling  hand- 
sleds  laden  with  meat,  furs,  moose-skins,  and 
infants.  The  puj^py-dog  and  the  infant 
never  fail  in  cabin  or  cortefje.  Sometimes  one 
may  see  the  two  packed  together  on  the  back 
of  a  woman,  who  carries  besides  a  load  of 
meat  or  skins.  I  believe  the  term  "  encum- 
brance" has  sometimes  been  applied  to  the 
human  j)ortion  of  such  a  load,  in  circles  so 
elevated  that  even  the  humanity  of  mater- 
nity would  appear  to  have  been  successfully 
eliminated  by  civilization.  If  ever  the  term 
carried  truth  with  it,  it  is  here  in  this  wild 
northern  land,  where  yon  Avretched  woman 
bears  man's  burthen  of  toil  as  well  as  her 
own.  Here  the  child  is  veritably  an  encum- 
brance; yet  in  some  instincts  the  savage 
mother  might  teach  her  civilized  sister  a 
lesson  of  womanity.  Perhaps  here,  while 
this  motley  cavalcade  passes  along,  we  may 
step  aside  a  moment  from  the  track,  and  tell 
the  story  of  a  marten. 

A  couple  of  cotton  kerchiefs,  which  my 
lady's-maid  would  disdain  to  be  the  owner 
196 


THE    WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

of,  and  a  couple  of  ten-pound  bank-notes 
from  my  lady's  purse,  mark  the  two  extremes 
between  which  lies  the  history  of  a  marten. 
We  will  endeavour  to  bring  together  these 
widely-severed  ends. 

When  the  winter  is  at  its  coldest,  but  when 
the  days  are  beginning  to  lengtlien  out  a  lit- 
tle over  the  dim  pine-woods  of  the  North 
the  Indian  builds  a  small  circular  fence  of 
wood,  some  fourteen  inches  high.  Upon 
one  side  this  circle  is  left  open,  b\it  across 
the  aperture  a  thick  limb  or  thin  trunk  of 
tree  is  laid  with  one  end  resting  on  the 
ground.  Inside  the  circle  a  forked  stick 
holds  a  small  bit  of  fish  or  meat  as  a  bait. 
This  forked  stick  is  set  so  as  to  support 
another  small  piece  of  wood,  upon  which  in 
turn  rests  the  half-uplifted  log.  Pull  the 
baited  stick,  and  you  let  slip  the  small  sup- 
porting one,  which  in  turn  lets  fall  the  large 
horizontal  log.  Thus  runs  the  sequence.  It 
is  a  guillotine,  with  a  tree  instead  of  a  sharp 
knife;  it  is  called  a  " dead  fall."  Numbers 
of  them  are  erected  in  the  woods,  where 
martens'  tracks  are  plentiful  in  the  snow. 
Well,  then,  the  line  of  "  dead  falls  "  being 
made  and  set,  the  Indian  departs,  and  silence 
reigns  in  the  forest.  But  once  a  week  he 
starts  forth  to  visit  this  line  of  "  dead  falls," 
which  may  be  ten  or  fifteen  miles  in  length. 

Every  now  and  again  he  finds  one  of  his 
197 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

guillotines  down,  and  underneath  it  lies  a 
small,  thick-furred  animal,  in  size  something 
larger  than  a  ferret,  something  smaller  than 
a  cat.  It  is  needless  to  describe  the  colour  of 
the  animal;  from  childhood  upwards  it  is 
familiar  to  us.  Most  persons  can  recall  the 
figure  of  maiden  aunt  or  stately  visitor, 
muffed,  cuffed,  boa'd  and  pelissed,  in  all  the 
splendour  of  her  sables.  Our  little  friend 
under  the  dead  fall  is  none  other  than  the 
sable — the  marten  of  North  America,  the 
sable  of  Siberia. 

A  hundred  miles  away  from  the  nearest 
fort  this  marten  has  been  captured.  When 
the  snow  and  ice  begin  to  show  symptoms  of 
softening,  the  Indian  packs  his  furs  together, 
and  sets  out,  as  we  have  seen,  for  the  fort. 
There  are,  perhaps,  five  or  six  families  to- 
gether ;  the  squaws  and  dogs  are  heavy  laden, 
and  the  march  is  slow  and  toilsome.  All 
the  household  gods  have  to  be  carried  along. 
The  leather  tent,  the  battered  copper  kettle, 
the  axe,  the  papoose  strapped  in  the  moss 
bag,  the  two  puppy-dogs,  yet  unable  to  shift 
for  themselves,  the  snoAv-shoes  for  hunting, 
the  tattered  blanket,  the  dry  meat ;  it  makes 
a  big  load,  all  told;  and  squaw  and  dog  toil 
along  with  dilficulty  under  it.  The  brave  of 
course  goes  before,  deigning  only  to  carry  his 
gun,  and  not  always  doing  even  that;  the 
wife  is  but  as  a  dog  to  him. 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

Well,  day  by  day  the  party  moves  along  till 
the  fort  is  reached.  Then  comes  the  trade. 
The  fifty  or  a  hundred  marten-skins  are 
lianded  over:  the  debt  of  the  past  year  is 
cancelled,  partly  or  wliolly;  and  advances 
are  taken  for  the  coming  season. 

The  wild  man's  first  thought  is  for  the  lit- 
tle one, — the  child's  white  capote,  strouds  or 
blanketing  for  tiny  backs,  a  gaudy  handker- 
chief for  some  toddling  papoose.  After  that 
the  shot  and  powder,  the  flints  and  ball  for 
his  own  use ;  and  lastly,  the  poor  wife  gets 
something  for  her  share.  She  has  managed 
to  keej)  a  couple  of  deer-skins  for  her  own 
perquisite,  and  with  these  she  derives  a  little 
pin-money. 

It  would  be  too  long  to  follow  the  marten 
skin  through  its  many  vicissitudes — how  it 
changes  from  hand  to  hand,  each  time  more 
than  doubling  its  price,  until  at  length  some 
stately  dowager  spends  more  guineas  upon  it 
than  its  original  captor  realized  pence  for  it. 

Many  a  time  have  I  met  these  long  pro- 
cessions, sometimes  when  I  have  been  alone 
on  the  march,  and  at  others  when  my  fol- 
lowers were  around  me ;  each  time  there  was 
the  inevitable  hand-shaking,  the  good-hu- 
moured laughing,  the  magic  word  "  the ; "  a 
few  matches,  and  a  plug  or  two  of  tobacco 
given,  and  we  separated.  How  easily  they 
were  made  happy!  And  now  and  again 
199 


THE  WILD  XORTII  LAND. 

among  them  would  be  seen  a  poor  crippled 
Indian,  maimed  by  fall  from  horse  or  shot 
from,  gun,  hobbling  along  with  the  women  in 
the  rear  of  the  straggling  cortege,  looking  for 
all  the  world  like  a  wild  bird  with  a  broken 
wing. 

The  spring  was  now  rapidly  approaching, 
and  each  day  made  some  change  in  the  state 
of  the  ice.  The  northern  bank  was  quite 
clear  of  snow ;  the  Avater  on  the  river  grew 
daily  deeper,  and  at  night  the  ice  cracked 
and  groaned  as  we  walked  upon  it,  as  though 
the  sleeping  giant  had  begun  to  stir  and 
stretch  himself  previous  to  his  final  waking. 

On  the  morning  of  the  7th  of  April  we 
passed  the  site  of  an  old  fort  on  the  northern 
shore.  I  turned  aside  to  examine  it.  Rank 
weeds  and  grass  covered  a  few  mounds,  and 
faint  traces  of  a  fireplace  could  be  still  dis- 
cerned. Moose-tracks  were  numerous  around. 

Just  fifty  years  earlier,  this  old  spot  had 
been  the  scene  of  a  murderous  attack. 

In  the  grey  of  the  morning,  a  small  band 
of  Beaver  Indians  approached  the  fort,  and 
shot  its  master  and  four  men ;  a  few  others 
escaped  in  a  canoe,  leaving  Fort  St.  John's 
to  its  fate.  It  was  immediately  burned  down, 
and  the  forest  has  long  since  claimed  it  as 
its  own.  In  the  phraseology  of  the  period, 
this  attack  was  said  to  have  been  made  by 
the  Indians  in  revenge  for  a  series  of  "  wife- 
200 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

lifting  "  which  had  been  carried  on  against 
them  by  the  denizens  of  the  fort.  History 
saith  no  more,  but  it  is  more  than  ])rol)able 
that  this  dangerous  method  of  levying  "  black 
female  "  was  thereafter  discontinued  by  the 
Highland  fur-traders. 

We  camped  not  far  from  the  ruined  fort, 
and  next  night  drew  near  our  destination.  It 
was  full  time.  The  ice  was  rapidly  going, 
and  already  in  places  dark,  treacherous  holes 
showed  grimly  through  to  the  rushing  water 
beneath. 

The  dogs  were  all  lame,  and  Cerf-vola  had 
to  be  regularly  put  in  boots  previous  to  start- 
ing. Still,  lame  or  sound,  he  always  trav- 
elled just  the  same.  When  his  feet  were 
very  sore,  he  would  look  around  now  and 
again  for  assistance ;  but  if  none  was  forth- 
coming he  bent  himself  resolutely  to  the  task, 
and  with  down-bent  head  toiled  at  his  collar. 
Others  might  tire,  others  might  give  out,  but 
he  might  truly  say, — - 

"  Dogs  may  come,  aud  dogs  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  for  ever. 
Ever,  ever,  I  go  on  for  ever." 

Before  daybreak  on  the  8th  we  stopped  for 
the  usual  cup  of  tea  and  bite  of  pemmican. 
The  night  was  dark  and  overcast,  l^eside 
us  a  huge  pile  of  driftwood  lay  heaped  above 
the  ice.  We  fired  it  in  many  places  before 
starting,  and  then  set  out  for  our  last  dog- 
201 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

march.  The  flames  rose  high  through  the 
dry  timber,  and  a  long  line  of  light  glowed 
and  quivered  upon  the  ice.  We  were  soon 
far  away  from  it.  Day  broke ;  a  thick  rain 
began  to  fall ;  dogs  and  men  sunk  deep  in  the 
slushy  snow.  "Go  on,  good  old  Cerf-vola! 
A  little  more,  and  your  weary  journey  will 
be  over;  a  little  more,  and  the  last  mile  of 
this  1,400  will  have  been  run  ;  a  little  more, 
and  the  collar  will  be  taken  from  your  worn 
shoulders  for  the  last  long  time  I  " 

At  the  bend  of  the  Peace  River,  where  a 
lofty  ridge  runs  out  from  the  southern  side, 
and  the  hills  along  the  northern  shore  rise  to 
nearly  1,000  feet  above  the  water,  stands  the 
little  fort  of  St.  John.  It  is  a  remote  spot, 
in  a  land  which  is  itself  remote.  From  out 
the  plain  to  the  west,  forty  or  fifty  miles 
away,  great  snowy  peaks  rise  up  against  the 
sky.  To  the  north  and  south  and  east  all  is 
endless  Avilderness — wilderness  of  pine  and 
prairie,  of  lake  and  stream — of  all  the  vast 
inanity  of  that  moaning  waste  Avhich  sleeps 
betweeen  the  Bay  of  Hudson  and  the  Rocky 
Mountains. 

So  far  have  we  journeyed  through  that 
land;  here  we  shall  rest  awhile.  The  time 
of  winter  travel  has  drawn  to  its  close ;  the 
ice-road  has  done  its  work ;  the  dogs  may  lie 
down  and  rest;  for  those  great  snowy  peaks 
are  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
803 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

TlieWild  Animals  of  the  Peace  River — Indian  Meth- 
od of  Hunting  the  Moose — Twa-poos — The  Bea- 
ver—Tlie  Bear — Bear's  Butter — A  Bear's  Hug 
and  How  it  Ended— Fort  St.  John — The  River 
Awakes — A  Rose  without  a  Tliorn — Nigger  Dan 
—  A  Tlireatening  Letter  — I  Issue  a  Judicial 
Memorandum — Its  Effect  is  All  that  could  be 
Desired — Working  up  the  Peace  River. 

Three  animals  have  made  their  homes  on 
the  shores  of  the  Peace  River  and  its  tribu- 
taries. They  are  the  bear,  the  moose,  and 
the  beaver.  All  are  valuable  to  the  Indian 
for  their  flesh,  fur,  or  skin ;  all  come  to  as 
great  perfection  here  as  in  any  part  of  the 
American  continent. 

The  first  and  last  named  go  to  sleep  in  the 
long  winter  months,  but  the  moose  still 
roams  the  woods  and  willow  baanks,  feeding 
with  his  flesh  the  forts  and  the  Indians 
along  the  entire  river.  About  100  full- 
grown  moose  had  been  consumed  during  the 
winter  months  at  the  four  posts  we  have 
lately  passed,  in  fresh  meat  alone.  He  is  a 
huge  animal;  his  carcase  will  weigh  from. 
303 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

three  to  six  hundred  pounds ;  yet  an  ordinary 
half-bi'eed  will  devour  him  in  little  more  than 
a  month. 

Between  four  and  five  hundred  moose  are 
annually  eaten  at  the  forts  of  the  Peace 
E.iver ;  four  times  that  number  are  consumed 
by  the  Indians,  but  the  range  of  the  animal 
is  vast,  the  hunters  are  comparatively  few, 
and  to-day  there  are  probably  as  many  moose 
in  Peace  Piver  as  there  Avere  fifty  years 
ago. 

Athabasca  trades  to-day  the  skins  of 
nearly  2,000  moose  in  a  single  year.  Few  ani- 
mals are  more  unshapely  than  this  giant  deer. 
His  neck  slojies  down  from  the  shoulder, 
ending  in  a  head  as  large  as  a  horse — a  head 
which  ends  in  a  nose  curled  like  a  camel's — - 
a  nose  delicious  to  the  taste,  but  hideous  to 
the  eye.  The  ears  are  of  enormous  length. 
Yet,  ugly  as  are  the  nose  and  ears  of  the 
moose,  they  are  his  chief  means  of  protection 
against  his  eneiiiy,  and  in  that  great  ungainly 
head  there  lurks  a  brain  of  marvellous  cun- 
ning. It  is  tlirough  nose  and  ears  that  this 
cunning  brain  is  duly  prompted  to  escape 
danger. 

No  man  save  f/ie  Indian,  or  the  half-In- 
dian, can  hunt  the  moose  with  chance  of  suc- 
cess. 

I  am  aware  that  a  host  of  Englishmen  and 
Canadians  will  exclaim  against  this,  but 
304 


THE  WILD  NOT^TII  LAND. 

nevertheless  it  is  perfectly  true.  Hunting 
the  luoose  in  summer  and  winter  is  one  thing 
— killing  him  in  a  snow-yard,  or  running  him 
down  in  deep  snow  is  another.  The  two 
methods  are  as  widely  different  as  killing  a 
salmon  which  another  man  has  hooked  for 
you  is  different  from  rising,  hooking,  play- 
ing, and  gaffing  one  j^ourself. 

To  hunt  the  moose  requires  years  of  study. 
Here  is  the  little  game  which  his  instinct 
teaches  him.  When  the  early  morning  has 
come,  he  begins  to  think  of  lying  down  for 
the  day.  He  has  been  feeding  on  the  grey 
and  golden  willow-tops  as  he  walked  lei- 
surely along.  His  track  is  marked  in  the 
snow  or  soft  clay ;  he  carefully  retraces  his 
footsteps,  and,  breaking  off  suddenly  to  the 
leeward  side,  lies  down  a  gunshot  from  his 
feeding-track.  He  knows  he  must  get  the 
wind  of  any  one  following  his  trail. 

In  the  morning  "Twa-poos,"  or  the  Three 
Thumbs,  sets  forth  to  look  for  a  moose ;  he 
hits  the  trail  and  follows  it;  every  now  and 
again  he  examines  the  broken  willow-tops  or 
the  hoof-marks,  when  experience  tells  him 
that  the  moose  has  been  feeding  here  during 
the  early  night.  Twa-poos  quits  the  trail, 
bending  in  a  deep  circle  to  leeward;  stealth- 
ily he  returns  to  the  trail,  and  as  stealthily 
bends  away  again  from  it.  He  makes  as  it 
were  the  semicircles  of  the  letter  B,  suppos- 
205 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

ing  the  perpendicular  line  to  indicate  the 
trail  of  the  moose ;  at  each  return  to  it  he 
examines  attentively  the  Avillows,  and  judges 
his  proximity  to  the  game. 

At  last  he  is  so  near  that  he  knows  for  an 
absolute  certainty  that  the  moose  is  lying  in 
a  thicket  a  little  distance  ahead.  Now  comes 
the  moment  of  caution.  He  divests  himself 
of  every  article  of  clothing  which  might 
cause  the  slightest  noise  in  the  forest ;  even 
his  moccasins  are  laid  aside ;  and  then,  on  a 
pointed  toe  which  a  ballet-girl  might  envy, 
he  goes  forward  for  the  last  stalk.  Every 
bush  is  now  scrutinized,  every  thicket  exam- 
ined. See !  he  stops  all  at  once !  You  who 
follow  him  look,  and  look  in  vain ;  you  can 
see  nothing.  He  laughs  to  himself,  and 
points  to  yon  willow  covert.  No,  there  is 
nothing  there.  He  noiselessly  cocks  his 
gun.  You  look  again  and  again,  but  can  see 
nothing;  then  Twa-poos  suddenly  stretches 
out  his  hand  and  breaks  a  little  dry  twig 
from  an  overhanging  branch.  In  an  instant, 
right  in  front,  thirty  or  forty  yards  away, 
an  immense  dark-haired  animal  rises  up  from 
the  willows.  He  gives  one  look  in  your 
direction,  and  that  look  is  his  last.  Twa- 
poos  has  fired,  and  the  moose  is  either  dead 
in  his  thicket  or  within  a  few  hundred  yards 
of  it. 

One  Avord  now  abovit  this  sense  of  hearing 
206 


THE    WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

possessed  by  tlie  inoose.  The  most  favoura- 
ble day  for  hunting  is  in  wild  windy  weather, 
when  the  dry  branches  of  the  forest  crack  in 
the  gale.  Nevertheless,  Indians  have  as- 
sured me  that,  on  such  days,  when  they  have 
sighted  a  moose,  thej^  have  broken  a  dry 
stick;  and  although  many  branches  were 
waving  and  cracking  in  the  woods,  the  ani- 
mal started  at  the  sound — distinguishing  it 
from  the  natural  noises  of  the  forest. 

But  although  the  moose  are  still  as  numer- 
ous on  Peace  River  as  they  were  in  days  far 
removed  from  the  present,  there  is  another 
animal  which  has  almost  wholly  disappeared. 

The  giant  form  of  the  wood-buffalo  no 
longer  darkens  the  steep  lofty  shores.  When 
first  Mackenzie  beheld  the  long  reaches  of 
the  river,  the  "  gentle  laAvns "  which  alter- 
nated with  "  abrupt  precipices  "  were  "  en- 
livened" by  vast  herds  of  buffaloes.  This 
was  in  1793.  Thirty-three  years  later,  Sir 
George  Simpson  also  ascended  the  river  with 
his  matchless  Iroquois  crew.  Yet  no  buffalo 
darkened  the  lofty  shores. 

What  destroyed  them  in  that  short  in- 
terval? The  answer  is  not  difficult  to  seek 
— deep  snow.  The  buffalo  grazes  on  the 
grass,  the  moose  browses  on  the  tall  willows. 
During  one  winter  of  exceptionally  deep 
snow,  eighty  buffaloes  were  killed  in  a  single 
day  in  the  vicinity  of  Dun  vegan.  The  In- 
207 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

dians  ran  them  into  the  snowdrifts,  and  then 
despatched  them  with  knives. 

It  is  still  a  matter  of  dispute  whether  the 
wood-bulfalo  is  the  same  species  as  his 
namesake  of  the  southern  plains ;  but  it  is 
generally  believed  by  the  Indians  that  he  is 
of  a  kindred  race.  He  is  nevertheless  larger, 
darker,  and  wilder ;  and  although  the  north- 
ern land,  in  which  he  is  still  found,  abounds 
in  open  prairies  and  small  plains,  he  never- 
theless seeks  in  preference  the  thickest  woods. 
Whether  he  be  of  the  plain  race  or  not,  one 
thing  is  certain — his  habits  vary  much  from 
his  southern  cousin.  The  range  of  the  wood- 
buffalo  is  much  farther  north  than  is  gener- 
ally believed.  There  are  scattered  herds 
even  now  on  the  banks  of  the  Liard  River  as 
far  as  sixty-one  degrees  of  north  latitude. 

The  earth  had  never  elsewhere  such  an  ac- 
cumulation of  animal  life  as  this  northern 
continent  must  have  exhibited  some  live  or 
six  centuries  ago,  when,  from  the  Great  Slave 
Lake  to  the  Gulf  of  Florida,  millions  upon 
millions  of  bisons  roamed  the  wilderness. 

Have  we  said  enough  of  animals,  or  can  we 
spare  a  few  words  to  the  bears  and  the  bea- 
vers? Of  all  the  animals  which  the  New 
World  gave  to  man  the  beaver  was  the  most 
extraordinary.  His  cunning  surpassed  that 
of  the  fox ;  his  skill  was  greater  than  that  of 
the  honey-bee;  his  patience  was  more  en- 
208 


THE   WJLI)   NOHTIl    J.ANl). 

(luring  than  the  spidev's;  liis  labour  could 
turn  the  waters  of  a  mighty  river  and  change 
the  face  of  an  entire  country,  lie  couhl  cut 
down  forests,  and  build  bridges;  lie  dwelt  in 
a  house  with  rooms,  a  common  hall  and  a 
neat  doorway  in  it.  He  could  fell  a  forest 
tree  in  any  direction  he  pleased,  or  carry  it 
on  his  back  when  his  sharp  teeth  had  lopped 
its  branches.  He  worked  in  companies,  with 
a  master  beaver  at  the  head  of  each — com- 
panies from  whose  ranks  an  itlle  or  a  lazy 
beaver  was  ignominiously  expelled.  He 
dwelt  along  the  shores  of  quiet  lakes,  or  by 
the  margins  of  rushing  streams,  and  silent 
majestic  rivers,  far  in  the  heart  of  the  soli- 
tude. 

But  there  came  a  time  when  men  deemed 
his  soft,  dark  skin  a  fitting  covering  for  their 
heads;  and  Avild  men  hunted  him  out  in  liis 
lonely  home.  They  traj^ped  him  from  Texas 
to  the  Great  Bear  Lake;  they  hunted  him  in 
the  wildest  recesses  of  the  Rocky  Mountains; 
rival  companies  went  in  pursuit  of  him.  In 
endeavouring  to  cover  the  heads  of  others, 
hundreds  of  trappers  lost  their  own  head- 
covering  ;  the  beaver  brought  many  a  white 
man's  scalp  to  the  red  man's  lodge-pole; 
and  many  a  red  man's  life  went  out  with  the 
beaver's.  In  the  West  he  became  well-nigh 
extinct,  in  the  nearer  North  he  became 
scarce;  yet  here  in  Peace  River  he  held  his 
1-1  209 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

own  against  all  comers.  Nigh  30,000  l)ea- 
vers  die  annually  along  its  shores,  and  when 
spring  opens  its  waters  the  night  is  ever 
broken  l)y  the  dull  plunge  of  countless 
beavers  in  the  pools  and  eddies  of  the  great 
river. 

Along  the  lofty  shores  of  the  Peace  Eiver 
the  Saskootum  berry  grows  in  vast  quanti- 
ties. In  August  its  fruit  is  ripe,  and  the 
bears  come  forth  to  enjoy  it;  black,  brown, 
and  grizzly,  stalk  along  the  shores  and  hill- 
sides browsing  on  this  luscious  berry.  On 
such  food  Bruin  grows  fat  and  unwieldy; 
he  becomes  "  sleek-headed  "  and  "  sleeps  of 
nights,"  thus  falling  an  easy  prey  to  his 
hunter. 

While  he  was  alive  he  loved  the  "  poire  " 
berries,  and  now  when  he  is  dead  the  red 
man  continues  the  connexion,  and  his  dain- 
tiest morsel  is  the  bear's  fat  and  Saskootum 
berries  mixed  with  powdered  moose-meat. 
It  is  the  dessert  of  a  Peace  River  feast ;  the 
fat,  white  as  cream,  is  eaten  in  large  quan- 
tities, and  although  at  first  a  little  of  it 
suffices,  yet  after  a  while  one  learns  to  like 
it,  and  the  dried  Saskootum  and  "bear's 
butter  "  becomes  a  luxury. 

But  fat  or  lean,  the  grizzly  bear  is  a  for- 
midable antagonist.  Few  Indians  will  fol- 
low him  alone  to  his  lair;  his  strength  is 
enormous,  he  can  kill  and  carry  a  buffalo- 
210 


THE   AVILI)   NOUTII   LAM). 

bull ;  were  he  as  active  as  lie  is  strong  it  is 
probable  that  he  would  stand  as  the  most 
dangerous  animal  on  the  earth.  lint  his 
movements  are  comparatively  slow,  and  his 
huge  form  is  upraised  upon  its  hind  legs  be- 
fore he  grapples  his  adversary.  Woe  to  that 
adversary  should  those  great  fore-paws  ever 
encircle  him.  Once  only  have  I  known  a 
man  live  to  tell  the  tale  of  that  embrace :  his 
story  was  a  queer  one.  He  had  been  at- 
tacked from  behind,  he  had  only  time  to  tire 
his  gun  into  the  bear's  chest  when  the  mon- 
ster grasped  him.  The  Indian  never  lost  his 
power  of  tliought ;  he  plunged  his  left  arm 
into  the  brute's  throat,  and  caught  firm  hold 
on  the  tongue ;  with  his  right  hand  he  drove 
his  hunting-knife  into  ribs  and  side ;  his  arm 
and  hand  were  mangled,  his  sides  were 
gashed  and  torn,  but  the  grizzly  lay  dead  be- 
fore him. 

The  fort  of  St.  John,  on  the  Upper  Peace 
River,  is  a  very  tumble-down  old  place;  it 
stands  on  the  south  shore  of  the  river,  some 
thirty  feet  above  high-water  level;  close  be- 
hind its  ruined  buildings  the  ridges  rise  1,000 
feet,  steep  and  pine-clad;  on  the  opposite 
shore  bare  grassy  hills  lift  their  thicket- 
fringed  faces  nearly  to  the  same  elevation ; 
the  river,  in  fact,  runs  at  the  bottom  of  a 
very  large  V-shaped  trough  900  feet  below 
the  prairie-plateau.  Between  the  base  of  the 
211 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

hill  and  the  bank  of  the  river  lies  a  tract  of 
wooded  and  sheltered  land,  from  whose 
groves  of  birch,  poplar,  and  i)ines  the  loud 
"  drumming  "  of  innumerable  }tartiidges  now 
gave  token  of  the  coming  spring.  Yes,  we 
had  travelled  into  the  spring — our  steps  and 
these  never-tiring  dogs  had  carried  us  farther 
and  quicker  than  time.  It  was  only  the  sec- 
ond week  in  April,  and  already  the  earth 
began  to  soften;  the  forest  smelt  of  last 
year's  leaves  and  of  this  year's  buds;  the 
rills  spoke,  and  the  wild  duck  winged  along 
the  river  channels.  During  the  whole  of 
the  second  week  of  April  the  days  were  soft 
and  Avarm ;  rain  fell  in  occasional  showers; 
at  daybreak  my  thermometer  showed  only  3° 
or  4°  of  frost,  and  in  the  afternoon  stood  at 
50°  to  60°  in  the  shade.  From  the  15th  to 
the  20th  the  river,  which  had  hitherto  held 
aloof  from  all  advances  of  the  spring,  began 
to  show  many  symptoms  of  yielding  to  her 
soft  entreaties.  Big  tears  rose  at  times  upon 
his  iron  face  and  flowed  down  his  frosted 
cheeks;  his  great  heart  seemed  to  swell  within 
him,  and  ominous  groans  broke  from  his 
long-silent  bosom.  At  night  he  recovered 
himself  a  little,  and  looked  grim  and  rigid  in 
the  early  morning;  but,  at  last,  spring,  and 
shower,  and  sun,  and  stream  were  too  much 
for  him — all  his  children  were  already  awake, 
and  prattling,  and  purling,  and  pulling  at 
213 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

him,  and  shaking  him  to  open  his  long-ch)Sf>(l 
eyelids,  to  look  once  more  at  the  bhie  and 
golden  summer.  It  was  the  20th  of  April. 
]^ut  the  rose  of  spring  had  its  thorn  too 
(what  rose  has  not?),  and  with  bud,  and  sun, 
and  shower  came  the  first  mosquito  on  this 
same  20th  of  April.  He  was  a  feeble  insect, 
and  hummed  around  in  a  mournful  sort  of 
manner,  not  at  all  in  keeping  with  the  glow- 
ing prospect  before  him.  He  had  a  wliole 
long  summer  of  stinging  in  prospective; 
"  the  winter  of  his  discontent "  was  over,  and 
yet  there  was  nothing  hilarious  in  his  hum. 
1  have  made  a  slight  error  in  rei)eating  the 
old  saying,  that  "'no  rose  is  without  its 
thorn,"  for  there  is  just  one — it  is  the  prim- 
rose. Bui;  there  were  other  thorns  than  mos- 
quitoes in  store  for  the  denizens  of  this 
isolated  spot,  called  St.  John's,  in  the  wilder- 
ness. 

On  the  north  shore  of  the  river,  directly 
facing  the  tumble-down  fort,  a  new  log- 
house  was  in  course  of  erection  by  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company.  Work  moves  slowly  in 
the  North,  and  his  log-house  lay  long  unlin- 
ished.  One  fine  day  a  canoe  came  floating 
down  the  lonely  river;  it  held  a  solitary 
negro — pioneer,  cook,  trapper,  vagrant,  idler, 
or  squatter,  as  chance  suited  him.  Tliis 
time  the  black  paddler  determined  to  squat 
by  the  half -finished  log-house  of  the  Com- 
ply 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

pany.  Four  yeais  eariiev  lie  had  dwelt  for  a 
season  on  this  same  spot.  There  were  dark 
rumours  afloat  about  him ;  he  had  killed  his 
man  it  Avas  averred;  nay,  he  had  repeated 
the  pastime,  and  killed  two  men.  He  had 
robbed  several  mining  shanties,  and  had  to 
shift  his  residence  more  than  once  beyond 
the  mountains  on  account  of  his  mode  of  life. 
Altogether  Nigger  Dan,  as  he  was  called, 
bore  an  indifferent  reputation  among  the  soli- 
tary white  man  and  his  half-breed  helpers  at 
the  post  of  St.  John's.  By  the  Indians  he 
was  regarded  as  something  between  a  beaver 
and  an  American  bear,  and,  had  his  head 
been  tradeable  as  a  matter  of  fur,  I  believe 
they  would  have  trapped  him  to  a  certainty. 
But  despite  the  hostile  feelings  of  the  entire 
community,  Nigger  Dan  held  stout  possession 
of  his  shanty,  and  claimed,  in  addition  to 
his  hut,  all  the  land  adjoining  it,  as  well  as 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Fort  in  course  of  erection. 
From  his  lair  he  issued  manifestoes  of  a  very 
violent  nature.  He  planted  stakes  in  the 
ground  along  the  river-bank,  upon  which  he 
painted  in  red  ochre  hieroglyphics  of  a  men- 
acing character.  At  night  he  could  be 
heard  across  the  silent  river  indulging  in  loud 
and  uncalled-for  curses,  and  at  times  he 
varied  this  employment  by  reciting  ])ortions 
of  the  Bible  in  a  pitch  of  voice  and  accent 
peculiar  to  gentlemen  of  colour.  On  the 
814 


THE   WILD   ^OKTII    LAND. 

12tli  of  Ajiiil,  four  days  after  my  arrival  at 
St.  John's,  my  young  host  was  the  recipient 
(jf  the  following  ultimatum,  I  copy  it  verba- 
tim : — 

April  12. 
Kenedy        I  licar  by 
VVorne  you  that  Com  and  Gett  your 
persuol  property  if  eny  you 

have  Got  of  my  prmeeis  In  24  hours  And  then  keep 
a\vay  from  me  because  I  slial  Not  betrubbld  Nor 
trod  on 

only  by  her  most  Noble 
Majesty 
Government 
(Sgd)        I).  T.  Williams. 

On  the  back  appeared, — 

I  have  wated  longe  A-day  for  an  ancer  from  that 
Notis  you  toer  Down  and  now  It  is  my  turn  to  tore 
down 

Although  the  spirit  of  loyalty  which 
breathed  througli  the  latter  portion  of  this 
do(!ument  was  n  o-;t  admirable,  it  is  neverthe- 
less matter  for  regret  that  Dan's  views  of  the 
subject  of  "  persnol  property  "  were  not  those 
of  a  law-abiding  citizen ;  unfortunately  for 
me,  both  the  Hudson's  Bay  claimant  and  the 
pegro  occupant  appealed  to  me  in  support  of 
^heir  rival  rights.  What  was  to  be  done? 
It  is  true  that  by  virtue  of  a  commission  con- 
ferred upon  me  some  years  earlier  I  had  been 
plevated  to  the  lofty  title  of  justice  of  the  peace 
for  Kupert's  Laud  and  the  North- West  Te;- 
815 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

ritories,  my  brother  justices  consisting,  I  be- 
lieve, of  two  Hudson  Bay  officials  and  three 
half-breed  buffalo  runners,  whose  collective 
wisdom  was  deemed  am])ly  sufficient  to  dis- 
pense justice  over  something  like  two  million 
sqiiare  miles.  !N"evertlieles.s,  it  occurred  to 
me  that  this  matter  of  disputed  ownership 
was  one  outside  even  the  wide  limits  of  my 
jurisdiction.  To  admit  such  want  of  juris- 
diction would  never  have  answered.  "  Ru- 
pert's Land  and  the  North-West"  carried 
with  tliem  a  sense  of  vast  indehnite  power, 
that  if  it  were  once  shaken  by  an  admission 
of  non-competency,  two  million  square  miles, 
containing  a  })opulation  of  one  twenty-fourth 
of  a  wild  man  to  each  square  mile,  might 
have  instantly  become  a  prey  to  chaotic  prime. 
Feeling  the  inutility  of  my  lofty  office  to 
deal  with  the  matters  in  question,  I  decided 
upon  adopting  a  middle  course,  one  which  I 
have  every  reason  to  believe  upheld  the  full 
majesty  of  the  law  in  the  eyes  of  the  eight 
representatives  of  the  Canadian,  African,  and 
American  races  of  man,  now  assembled 
around  me.  I  therefore  issued  a  document 
which  ran  thus : — 

Judicial  ISIemorandum. 

Various  circumstances  having  occurred    in   tlie 

neighbourhood  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Fort,  known  as 

St.  John's,  on  t}\e  Peace  River,  of  a  nature  to  lead 

to  the  assumptipn  that  »,  breach  of  the  pea<?e  is  liable 

^16 


THE   ^yUA')   NOHTII    I, AND. 

to  arise  out  of  tlie  question  of  (li.s])ute(l  ownership, 
iu  ii  plot  of  land  on  the  north  shore  of  the  river,  on 
which  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  iiave  elected 
buildings  to  serve  as  their  future  place  of  business, 
and  on  which  it  is  asserted  one  Daniel  Williams,  a 
person  of  colour,  formerly  lived,  this  is  to  notify  all 
persons  concerned  in  this  question,  that  no  belief  of 
ownership,  no  former  or  present  possession,  will  be 
held  in  any  way  to  excuse  or  palliate  the  slightest 
infringement  of  the  law,  or  to  sanction  any  act  of 
violence  being  conuiiitted,  yr  to  occasion  any  threats 
being  made  use  of  by  any  of  the  said  parties  which 
might  lead  to  a  1)reach  of  the  peace. 

Executed  by  me,  as  Justice  of  the  Peace  for  Ku- 
pert's  Land  and  the  North-West,  this  22nd  day  of 
April,  1873. 

Signed,  etc.,  etc. 

I  claim  for  this  memorandum  or  manifesto 
some  slight  degree  of  praise.  It  hears,  I 
think,  a  striking  analogy  to  diplomatic  docu- 
ments, for  which  of  late  years  the  British 
Government  has  been  conspicuons  in  times  of 
grave  foreign  complications;  but  in  one  im- 
portant respect  my  judicial  memorandum  was 
very  much  more  successful  than  any  of  the 
political  papers  upon  which  it  was  framed ; 
for  whereas  they  had  been  received  by  the 
respective  belligerents  to  wlioni  they  had 
been  addressed  in  a  manner  not  at  all  flatter- 
ing to  our  national  dignity,  my  very  lucid 
statement  that,  diplomatically  sjjeaking,  two 
and  two  made  four,  had  a  marked  impression 
on  the  iiiinds  of  my  audience, 
317 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

On  the  one  hand,  I  clearly  pointed  out 
that  murder,  arson,  and  robbery  were  not 
singly  or  collectively  in  unison  with  the  true 
interpretation  of  British  law;  and  on  the 
other,  I  carefully  abstained  from  giving  any 
indication  of  what  would  result  from  the  in- 
fringement of  that  law  in  the  persons  of  any 
of  the  belligerents. 

I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  negro 
Bismarck  Avas  deeply  impressed  by  the  gen- 
eral tenour  of  the  document;  and  that  a 
lengthened  perusal  of  the  word  "executed," 
in  the  last  sentence,  carried  with  it  a  sense 
of  profound  strangulation  under  which  he 
long  laboured. 

And  now  it  was  time  to  think  of  moving 
again  towards  the  setting  sun. 

]\Iany  months  of  travel  had  carried  me 
across  the  great  plateau  of  the  North  to  this 
spot,  where  from  tlie  pine-clad  i)lain  arose 
the  white  ridges  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
Before  me  lay  a  land  of  alps,  a  realm  of 
mountaia  peaks  and  gloomy  canons,  where  in 
countless  valleys,  unseen  by  the  eye  of  man, 
this  great  Peace  River  had  its  distant 
source.  In  snow  that  lasts  the  live-long 
year  these  mountain  summits  rest ;  but  their 
sides  early  feel  tlie  influence  of  the  summer 
sun,  and  from  the  thousand  valleys  crystal 
streams  rush  forth  to  swell  the  majestic 
current  of  the  great  river,  and  to  send  it 
2m 


THE    WILD   NOllTir    LAND. 

foaming  in    miglity    volume   to   the    distant 
Athabasca. 

At  such  a  time  it  is  glorious  work  for  the 
voi/aijeiit'  to  launch  liis  cotton-wood  canoe  on 
the  rushing  water  and  glance  down  the  broad 
bosom  of  the  river.  His  paddle  lies  idle  in 
the  water,  or  is  used  only  to  steer  the  swift- 
flying  craft;  and  when  evening  darkens  over 
the  lofty  shores,  he  lights  his  cami)-fire  full 
half  a  hundred  miles  from  his  starting-point 
of  the  morning. 

But  if  it  be  idle,  easy  work  to  run  down 
the  river  at  its  summer  level,  what  arduous 
toil  it  is  to  ascend  it  during  the  same  season! 
Bit  by  bit,  little  by  little,  the  upward  way 
must  be  won  ;  with  paddle,  with  pole,  with 
line  dragged  along  shore  and  pulled  round 
tree-stump  or  projecting  boulder;  until  even- 
ing finds  the  toiler  often  not  three  rivei' 
reaches  from  his  starting-point. 

When  the  river  finally  breaks  up,  and  the 
ice  has  all  passed  away,  there  is  a  short 
period  when  the  waters  stand  at  a  low  level ; 
the  sun  is  not  yet  strong  enougli  to  melt  the 
snow  quickly,  and  the  frosts  at  night  are  still 
sharp  in  the  mountain  valleys.  The  river 
then  stands  ten  feet  below  its  level  of  mid- 
June;  this  period  is  a  short  one,  and  not  an 
hour  must  be  lost  by  the  rojinfji'iir  wlio  would 
gain  the  benefit  ot  the  low  water  in  the 
eaiiier  days  of  May. 

219 


THE   AVILl)   NORTH   LAND. 

Seventy  miles  higher  up  the  Peace  River 
stands  a  solitary  house  called  Hudson's  Hope. 
It  marks  the  spot  where  the  river  first 
emerges  form  the  caiion  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, and  enters  the  plain  country.  A  trail, 
jjassable  for  horses,  leads  along  the  north 
shore  of  the  river  to  this  last  trading-post  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  on  the  verge  of 
the  mountains.  Along  this  trail  I  now 
determined  to  continue  my  journey,  so  as  to 
gain  the  west  side  of  the  Great  Canon  before 
the  ice  had  left  the  river,  and  thus  reap  the 
advantage  of  the  low  water  in  ascending  still 
farther  into  the  mountains. 

It  is  no  easy  matter  to  place  an  exact  pic- 
ture of  the  topography  of  a  country  before  a 
reader:  we  must,  however,  endeavour  to 
do  so. 

Some  fifty  miles  west  of  St.  John,  the 
Peace  River  issues  from  the  canon  through 
which  it  passes  the  outer  range  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  Ko  boat,  canoe,  or  craft  of  any 
kind  has  ever  run  the  gauntlet  of  this  huge 
chasm ;  for  five-and-thirty  miles  it  lies  deep 
sunken  through  the  mountains;  while  from 
its  depths  there  ever  rises  the  hoarse  roar  of 
the  angry  waters  as  they  dash  furiously 
against  their  rocky  prison.  A  trail  of  ten 
miles  leads  across  this  portage,  and  at  the 
western  end  of  this  trail  the  river  is  reached 
close  to  where  it  makes  its  first  plunge  into 
230 


THE   WILD   NORTH    LAND. 

the  rock-hewn  chasm.  At  thi«  point  tlio 
traveller  stands  witliin  the  outer  ran<,n'  of 
the  mountains,  and  he  has  before  liim  a  broad 
river,  stretching  far  into  a  region  of  lofty 
peaks,  a  liver  with  strong  but  even  current, 
flowing  between  banks  200  to  300  yards 
apart.  Around  great  mountains  lift  up  their 
heads  dazzling  with  the  glare  of  snow,  10,000 
feet  above  the  water  which  carries  his  frail 
canoe. 

It  was  through  this  that  I  now  proposed 
to  journey  westward  towards  the  country 
which  lies  between  the  Pacific  Ocean,  Alaska, 
and  the  multitudinous  mountains  of  Central 
British  Columbia,  a  land  but  little  known ;  a 
vast  alpine  region,  where,  amidst  lakes  and 
mountains  nature  reigns  in  loneliness  and 
cloud. 


221 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Start  from  St.  John's — Crossing  the  Ice — Batiste  le 
Fleur — Chimeroo — The  Last  Wood-buffalo — A 
Dangerous  Weapon — Our  Raft  Collapses— 
Across  the  Half-way  River. 

The  22iid  of  April  had  come.  For  some 
days  we  were  engaged  at  St.  John's  in  pre- 
paring supplies  for  the  ascent  of  the  river, 
and  in  catching  and  bringing  in  from  the 
prairie  the  horses  which  were  to  carry  me  to 
the  point  of  embarcation  at  the  west  end  of 
the  canon ;  the  snow  had  nearly  all  disap- 
peared from  the  level  prairie.  Tlie  river 
opposite  the  fort  was  partly  open,  but  some 
distance  below  a  bridge  of  ice  yet  remained, 
and  on  the  20th  we  moved  our  horses  across 
this  connecting  link  to  the  north  shore.  The 
night  of  the  20th  made  a  serious  change  in 
the  river,  and  when  the  22nd  came,  it  was 
doubtful  whether  we  should  be  able  to  cross 
without  mishap. 

From  the  fort  of  St.  John's  to  the  gold 
mines  on  the  Ominica  River  was  some  twenty 
or   thirty    days'  travel,   and  as  no  supplies 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

were  obtainable  en  route,  save  sucli  as  my  giin 
iniglit  afford,  it  became  necessary  to  carry  a 
considerable  quantity  of  moose  pemmican 
and  dry  meat,  the  sole  luxuries  which  St. 
John's  could  boast  of. 

By  the  22nd  all  preparations  were  declared 
complete,  and  we  began  to  cross  the  river 
over  the  doubtful  ice-bridge.  First  v\^ent  two 
men  dragging  a  dog-sled,  on  which  was  piled 
the  stores  and  provisions  for  the  journey; 
next  came  old  Batiste  La  Fleur,  who  was  to 
accompany  me  as  far  as  the  Half-way  River, 
a  torrent  which  we  would  have  to  raft  across 
on  the  second  day  of  our  journey. 

Batiste  carried  a  long  pole,  with  which  he 
sounded  the  ice  previous  to  stepping  upon  it. 
I  brought  up  the  rear,  also  carrying  a  pole, 
and  leading  by  a  long  line  the  faithful  Cerf- 
vola.  Spanker  and  his  six  comi^anions  here 
passed  from  my  hands,  and  remained  at  St. 
John's  to  idle  through  the  approaching  sum- 
mer, and  then  to  take  their  places  as  Hudson 
Bay  hauling-dogs ;  but  for  Cerf-vola  there 
was  to  be  no  more  hauling,  his  long  and 
faithful  service  had  at  length  met  its  reward, 
and  the  untiring  Esquimau  was  henceforth 
to  lounge  through  life  collarless  and  com- 
fortable. 

Coasting  down  along  the  shore-ice  we 
reached  the  crossing-point,  and  put  out  into 
the  mid-river;  once  on  the  dangerous  part, 
233 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

there  was  no  time  to  think  whether  it  was 
safe  or  not.  A  Salteaux  Indian,  draggiiif; 
the  sled,  went  in,  but  light  and  quick  as 
thought  he  dragged  himself  from  the  ice  and 
sped  along  its  yielding  surface.  Below  rnm- 
bled  the  river, and  in  the  open  places  its  dark 
waters  gurgled  up  and  over  the  crumbling 
ice.  Only  a  narrow  tongue  of  ice  spanned 
the  central  current ;  we  crossed  it  with  noth- 
ing worse  than  wet  feet  and  legs,  and  to  me 
a  dislocated  thumb,  and  then  we  breathed 
freer  on  the  farther  side. 

Loading  the  horses  with  luggage  and  pro- 
visions, I  bade  good-bye  to  my  host,  and 
we  turned  our  faces  towards  the  steep  north 
shore.  The  day  was  gloriously  bright.  The 
hill  up  which  the  horses  scrambled  for  a 
thousand  feet  was  blue  with  wild  anemones ; 
spring  was  in  the  earth  and  in  the  air.  Cerf- 
vola  raced  in  front,  with  tail  so  twisted  over 
his  back  that  it  threatened  to  dislocate  his 
spine  in  a  frantic  attempt  to  get  in  front  of 
his  nose.  The  earth,  bare  of  snow,  gave 
forth  a  delicious  fragrance,  which  one  drank 
with  inhnite  delight  after  the  long,  long 
scentless  v/inter;  and  over  the  white  river 
below,  and  the  pine  forest  beyond,  summer, 
dressed  in  blue  sky  and  golden  sunbeam, 
came  moving  gently  up  on  the  wing  of  the 
soft  south  wind. 

We  reached  the  summit.  Below  lay  a  long 
224 


THE  WILD  NOHTII   LAND. 

line  of  frosted  river;  tlie  little  fort,  dwarfed 
by  distance,  the  opposing  I'idges,  the  vast 
solitude,  and  beyond  all,  snow-white  against 
the  western  sky,  the  peaks  and  pinnacles  of 
nameless  mountains.  Through  varied  prairie 
and  wooded  country,  and  across  many  a  rush- 
ing brook,  deep  hidden  in  tangled  brake  and 
thicket,  we  held  our  way  on  that  bright 
spring  afternoon ;  and  evening  found  us  on  a 
bare  and  lofty  ridge,  overlooking  the  valley 
of  the  Peace  Kiver.  Batiste  had  lived  his 
life  in  these  solitudes,  and  knew  the  name  of 
creek  and  prairie,  and  the  history  (for  even 
the  wilderness  has  a  history)  of  each  hill  or 
widespread  meadow. 

The  beautiful  prairie  which  lay  beneath 
our  camping-place  was  Chimeroo's  prairie, 
and  the  great  ridge  of  rock  which  frowned 
above  it  was  also  Chimeroo's;  and  away 
there  where  the  cleft  appeared  in  the  hills  to 
the  north,  that  was  where  Chimeroo's  river 
came  out  to  join  the  Peace.  In  fact,  Chi- 
meroo  played  such  a  conspicuous  part  in  the 
scenery  that  one  naturally  asked.  Who  was 
Chimeroo? 

"Chimeroo!  Oh,  he  is  a  Beaver  Indian; 
he  lived  here  for  a  long  time,  and  he  killed 
the  last  wood-buffalo  in  yonder  valley,  just 
three  years  ago." 

The  last  of  his  race  had  wandered  down 
from  the  banks  of  the  Laird,  and  Chimeroo 
1.-)  225 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

had  struck  his  trail,  and  followed  him  to  the 
death. 

AVhen  twilight  fell,  that  peculiar  orange 
light  of  the  American  wilderness  lay  long  in 
the  west.  Against  this  vivid  colour  Chime- 
roo's  hill  stood  out  in  inky  profile  the  perfect 
image  of  a  colossal  face.  Forehead,  no.se, 
lips,  and  chin  seemed  cut  in  the  huge  rock, 
and,  like  a  monstrous  sphinx,  looked  blankly 
over  the  solitude. 

"  It  is  the  head  of  Chimeroo,"  I  said  to 
Batiste;  "see,  he  looks  over  his  dominions." 
We  were  perched  upon  a  bare  hill-top,  many 
hundred  feet  above  the  river.  The  face  rose 
between  us  and  the  west,  some  three  miles 
distant;  the  head,  thrown  slightly  back, 
seemed  to  look  vacantly  out  on  the  waste  of 
night  and  wilderness,  while  a  long  beard  (the 
lower  part  of  the  ridge)  descended  into  the 
darkness.  Graduall}'  day  drew  off  his  orange 
curtain  from  the  horizon,  and  ere  the  dark- 
ness had  blotted  out  the  huge  features  of  Chi- 
meroo, we  slept  upon  our  lonely  hill-top. 

Pursuing  our  journey  on  the  morrow,  w^e 
descended  to  the  river,  and  held  our  way 
over  Chimeroo' s  prairie,  passing  beneath  the 
lofty  ridge,  whose  outline  had  assumed  the 
image  of  a  human  face. 

About  mid-day  w^e  reached  the  banks  of 
Chimeroo's  river,  which,  being  flooded,  w^e 
forded,  and,  climbing  its  steep  north  shore, 
226 


TUK   Wir.D   X()I{TH    r.AND. 

lialted  for  dinner.  It  would  not  be  easy  to 
exaggerate  tlie  Ixnuity  of  tlie  country  tlirougli 
which  the  trail  liad  carried  us,  or  the  sensa- 
tion of  rest  Avhich  came  to  one  as,  looking 
out  over  the  landscape,  the  fair  spring  scene 
stole  insensibly  on  the  mind.  Everywhere 
the  blue  anemone,  like  a  huge  primrose, 
looked  up  to  the  bluer  sky ;  butterflies  flut- 
tered in  the  clear,  pure  air;  partridges 
drummed  in  the  budding  thickets.  The  birch 
trees  and  willows  were  putting  forth  their 
flowers,  precursors  of  the  leaves  so  soon  to 
follow.  The  long-hushed  rippling  of  the 
streams  fell  on  the  ear  like  music  heard  after 
lapse  of  time ;  and  from  the  blue  depths  of 
sky  at  times  fell  the  cry  of  the  wild  goose, 
as  Avith  scarce-moving  wing  he  held  his  way 
in  long  waving  ?(^'s  to  his  summer  home. 
Chimeroo's  prairie  was  golden  with  the  long 
grass  of  the  old  year.  Chimeroo's  hill  glis- 
tened in  the  bright  sun  of  the  new  spring ; 
and  winter,  driven  from  the  lower  earth,  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  mountains,  where  his 
snow-white  flag  of  surrender  floated  out  from 
crag  and  cliff,  high  above  the  realm  of  pines. 
Such  a  scene  as  this,  might  the  first  man 
have  beheld  when  he  looked  over  the  virgin 
earth.  It  was  far  too  fine  a  day  to  work: 
we  would  rest.  Batiste  La  Fleur  knew  of  a 
lake  not  far  off,  and  we  would  go  to  it  and 
spend  the  evening  in  liunting  beaver  and  wild 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

(lucks ;  so  we  put  the  saddles  on  and  jour- 
neyed slowly  to  Batiste's  paradise. 

Through  many  a  devious  path  and  tortuous 
way  did  Batiste  guide  us,  until  his  hunting- 
ground  Avas  gained.  On  a  knoll  Ave  made 
our  camp;  and  while  Kalder  remained  to 
look  after  it,  Batiste  and  I  sallied  forth  to 
hunt. 

Batiste's  gun  Avas  an  excellent  weapon, 
were  it  not  for  a  tendency  to  burst  about  the 
left  barrel.  This  Avas  made  observable  by 
tAvo  or  more  ominous  bulges  towards  the  cen- 
tre of  the  piece ;  but  Batiste  appeared  to  haA^e 
unlimited  confidence  in  the  integrity  of  his 
weapon,  and  explained  that  these  blemishes 
were  only  the  result  of  his  having  on  tAvo  or 
three  occasions  placed  a  bullet  over  a  charge 
of  shot,  and  then  directed  the  united  volley 
against  the  person  of  a  beaver.  When  load- 
ing this  gun  Batiste  had  a  risky  method  of 
leaning  it  against  his  chest  Avhile  draAving  a 
charge  of  shot  from  his  shot-bag.  I  pointed 
out  to  him  that  this  Avas  not  a  safe  method  of 
loading,  as  it  Avas  quite  possible  the  other 
barrel  might  explode  Avhile  the  gun  thus 
rested  against  his  side.  It  was  true,  he  said, 
for  only  last  year  the  gun  under  similar 
treatment  had  exploded,  carrying  aAvay  the 
brim  of  his  hat,  and  causing  no  slight  alarm 
to  the  rest  of  his  person. 

Our  success  that  afternoon  Avas  not  great; 
228 


THE    WILD   NORTH   T.AM). 

ducks  and  geese  but  lately  arrived  from  the 
peo})led  south  were  yet  wild  and  wary,  and 
had  not  learned  to  look  on  man  in  any  light 
save  that  of  an  enemy ;  and  altogether  Ba- 
tiste's hunter's  paradise  did  not  justify  his 
glowing  accounts  of  it.  To  do  him  justice, 
however,  it  must  be  stated  that  the  wet 
ground  was  literally  ploughed  up  with  moose- 
tracks;  and  the  golden  willows  lay  broken 
down  and  bruised  by  the  many  aninuds  which 
had  browsed  upon  them  during  the  winter. 

It  was  mid-day  on  the  24th  of  A})ril  Avhen 
we  reached  the  banks  of  the  Half-way  Eiver, 
whose  current,  swollen  by  the  melting  snow, 
rolled  swiftly  from  the  north,  between  banks 
piled  high  with  ice-floe.  This  was  the  first 
serious  obstacle  to  the  journey,  and  as  soon 
as  dinner  was  over  we  set  to  work  to  over- 
come it.  From  a  neighbouring  grove  of  pines 
Kalder  and  Batiste  got  dry  trees;  half  a 
dozen  of  these  lashed  together  formed  the 
groundwork  of  a  raft.  Three  other  pine-trees 
tied  on  top  completed  the  craft,  and  with  a 
long  pole  and  a  rough  paddle,  all  fashioned  by 
the  axe,  the  preparations  were  declared 
finished.  This  craft  was  put  together  in  a 
sheltered  part  of  the  river ;  and  when  all  was 
completed,  the  goods  and  chattels  were  placed 
upon  it.  But  one  more  piece  of  work  re- 
mained to  be  accomplished  ere  we  set  sail 
upon  our  raft — the  horses  had  to  be  crossed. 
239 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

By  dint  of  driving  and  shouting  we  forced 
them  across  the  boulders  of  ice  into  the  water. 
It  was  cold  as  ice,  and  they  stood  knee-deej^, 
afraid  to  venture  farther.  But  Kalder  was 
a  very  demon  when  work  had  to  be  done. 
In  an  instant  he  Avas  across  the  ice-floe,  and 
upon  the  back  of  one  of  the  horses ;  then 
with  knees  and  hands  and  voice  and  heels  he 
urged  the  brute  into  the  flood.  The  horse 
reared  and  snorted  and  plunged,  but  Kalder 
sat  him  like  the  half-breed  that  he  was,  and 
in  another  second,  horse  and  rider  plunged 
wildly  into  the  torrent.  Down  they  Avent 
out  of  sight,  and  when  they  reaj^peared  the 
horse  was  striking  out  for  the  far  shore,  and 
Kalder  was  grappling  with  the  ])rojecting  ice. 
The  other  horses  soon  followed  their  leader, 
and  all  four  went  swimming  down  the  cur- 
rent. Gradually  the  back  eddy  near  the 
farther  shore  caught  them,  and,  touching 
ground,  they  disappeared  in  the  forest.  Now 
came  our  turn  to  cross.  We  towed  the  crazy 
raft  up  the  bordering  ice,  and,  mooring  her 
for  a  moment  in  an  eddy,  took  our  places  on 
the  upper  logs.  Scarcely  had  we  put  out 
from  the  shore  than  the  fastening  gave  way, 
and  the  whole  fabric  threatened  instant  col- 
lapse. We  got  her  back  to  the  eddy,  re- 
paired the  damage,  and  once  more  put  out. 
Our  weight  and  baggage  sunk  us  down,  so 
that  the  body  of  the  raft  was  quite  sub- 
230 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

merged,  and  only  the  three  trees  on  top 
showed  above  the  water;  npon  these  we 
crouched.  Old  Batiste  waved  a  good-bye. 
Kalder  was  at  the  bow  with  a  pole.  I 
worked  a  j^addle  on  the  stern.  Once  out  of 
the  sheltering  eddy,  tlie  current  smote  our 
unwieldy  platform,  and  away  we  went. 
Another  instant  and  the  pole  failed  to  reach 
the  bottom.  With  might  and  main  I  worked 
the  paddle;  down  we  shot,  and  across;  but 
ten  yards  down  to  every  one  across.  Would 
we  save  the  eddy?  that  was  the  question; 
for  if  we  missed  it,  there  was  nought  to  stay 
our  wild  career.  Far  as  eye  could  reach,  the 
current  ran  wild  and  red.  For  an  anxious 
minute  we  rushed  down  the  stream,  and  then 
the  eddy  caught  us,  and  we  spun  round  like 
a  teetotum.  "The  other  side!  "  roared  Kal- 
der ;  and  to  the  other  side  went  the  paddle 
to  keep  us  in  the  eddy.  Then  we  headed  for 
the  shore;  and,  ere  the  current  could  catch 
us  again,  Kalder  was  breast-deep  in  tlie 
water,  holding  on  with  might  and  main  to  the 
raft. 

We  were  across  the  Half-way  River.  To 
unload  the  raft,  build  a  lire,  to  dry  our  wet 
garments,  and  shout  good-bye  to  old  Batiste, 
who  stood  on  an  ice  boulder,  anxiously  watch- 
ing our  fortunes  from  the  shore  we  had 
quitted,  took  us  but  a  short  time. 

The  horses  were  captured  and  saddled, 
^31 


THE  WILD  XORTI!  LAND. 

and,  ascending  through  tangled  forest  into  a 
terraced  land  of  rich-rolling  prairies,  we 
pushed  on  briskly  towards  the  west. 

Thus,  trotting  through  a  park-like  land  of 
wood  and  glade  and  meadow,  where  the 
jumping  deer  glanced  through  the  dry  grass 
and  trees,  we  gradually  drew  near  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  At  times  the  trail  led  up  the 
steep  face  of  the  outer  hill  to  the  plateau 
above,  and  then  a  rich  view  would  lie  be- 
neath— a  view  so  vast  with  the  glories  of  the 
snowy  range,  and  so  filled  with  nearer  river 
and  diamond-shaped  island,  that  many  a  time 
I  drew  rein  upon  some  lofty  standpoint  to 
look,  as  one  looks  upon  things  Avhich  we 
would  fain  carry  away  into  the  memory  of 
an  aftertime. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  of  the 
2oth  of  Aj^ril  we  emerged  from  a  Avood  of 
cypress  upon  an  open  space,  beneath  which 
ran  the  Peace  River.  At  the  opposite  side 
a  solitary  wooden  house  gave  token  of  life  in 
the  wilderness.  The  greater  part  of  the 
river  was  still  fast  frozen,  but  along  the 
nearer  shore  ran  a  current  of  open  water. 
The  solitary  house  was  the  Hope  of  Hudson ! 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Hudson's  Hope — A  Lover  of  Literature — Crossing 
tlie  Peace — An  Unskilful  Pilot — We  are  Upset — 
Our  Rescue — A  Strange  Variety  of  Arms — The 
Buffalo's  Head — A  Glorious  View. 

Dismounting  from  our  tired  horses,  we 
loosened  saddles  and  bridles,  hobbled  the 
two  fore-legs  together,  and  turned  them  adrift 
in  the  forest.  Then  we  caclwd  onr  baggage 
in  the  trees,  for  wolves  were  plentiful  around, 
and  a  grey  wolf  has  about  as  extensive  a  bill 
of  fare  in  the  matter  of  man's  clothing  and 
appointments  as  any  animal  in  creation,  ex- 
cept perhaps  a  monkey. 

In  my  early  days  in  Burmah  and  India,  I 
once  possessed  a  rare  specimen  of  the  last- 
named  genus,  who,  when  he  found  the  oppor- 
tunity, beautifully  illustrated  his  descent 
from  the  lower  orders  of  man  by  devouring 
a  three-volume  novel  in  less  time  than  any 
young  lady  of  the  period  could  possibly  ac- 
complish it.  He  never  knew  a  moment's 
starvation  as  long  as  he  had  a  photograph 
album  to  appease  his  insatiable  love  of  litera- 
ture.    But  to  proceed : — 

By  the  time  we  had  cached  our  baggage, 
two  men  had  come  forth  from  the  house  on 
233 


THE  AVILD  NORTH  LAND. 

the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  started  out 
upon  the  ice,  dragging  a  very  small  canoe ; 
when  they  reached  the  open  water  at  our 
side,  they  launched  their  craft  and  paddled 
across  to  the  shore ;  then,  ascending  the  hill, 
they  joined  us  at  the  cache. 

Their  news  was  soon  told ;  the  river  was 
open  at  the  west  end  of  the  portage  (ten 
miles  away).  Jaques  Pardonet,  a  French 
miner,  who  had  been  trapping  during  the 
winter,  was  about  to  start  for  the  mines  on 
the  Ominica  River;  he  was  now  patching  up 
an  old  canoe  which  he  had  found  stranded 
on  the  shore,  and  when  it  was  ready  he  would 
be  oif :  for  the  rest,  no  Indians  had  come  in 
for  a  very  long  time,  and  moose  meat  was  at 
a  very  low  ebb  in  Hudson's  Hope. 

We  descended  to  the  river,  and  Kalder 
and  Charette  (a  half-breed  in  charge  of  the 
fort)  crossed  first  in  the  beaver  canoe ;  it  was 
much  too  small  to  carry  us  all.  When  they 
had  disembarked  safely  on  the  ice,  they 
fastened  a  long  line  to  the  bow  of  the  canoe 
and  sh-oved  her  off  to  our  side ;  as  she  neared 
our  shore  she  was  caught  by  an  English  miner 
who  had  been  living  with  Charette  for  some 
days,  and  whom  I  had  engaged  to  accompany 
me  to  the  mines.  He  had  declared  himself 
a  proficient  in  the  art  of  canoeing,  and  I  was 
now  about  to  experience  my  fi.rst  example  of 
his  prowess. 

334 


THE   ^\UA)   KOKTil   LAND. 

We  took  our  places  and  slioved  from  the 
shore.  I  lay  low  in  the  canoe,  with  legs 
stretched  under  the  narrow  thwarts  to  steady 
her  as  much  as  possible.  I  took  in  no  bag- 
gage but  placed  gun  and  revolver  in  the  bot- 
tom alongside  of  me.  Cerf-vola  was  to  swim 
for  himself. 

A ,  the  miner,  took  a  paddle  at  the 

stern.  We  had  scarcely  left  the  shore  when 
the  canoe  lurched  quickly  to  one  side,  ship- 
l)ing  water  as  she  did  so.  Then  came  another 
lurch  on  the  other  side,  and  I  knew  all  was 
over.  I  heard  the  men  on  shore  shouting  to 
the  miner  to  sit  low — to  keep  down  in  the 
canoe— but  all  was  too  late.  There  came 
another  lurch,  a  surge  of  water,  and  we  were 
over  into  the  icy  quick-nmning  river.  I 
could  not  free  myself  from  the  thwarts  which 
held  me  like  a  vice ;  the  water  gurgled  and 
rushed  around,  about,  and  above  me ;  and 
the  horrid  sensation  of  powerlessness,  which 
the  sleeper  often  experiences  in  a  nightmare, 
came  full  upon  my  waking  senses. 

Of  struggling  I  have  but  a  faint  recollec- 
tion ;  at  such  times  one  struggles  with  a  wild 
instinct  that  knows  no  rule  or  thought ;  but 
I  vividly  recollect  the  prevalent  idea  of  being 
held  head  downwards  in  the  icy  current,  in  a 
grasp  which  seemed  as  strong  as  that  of 
death. 

I  remembered,  too,  without  trouble,  all  the 
235 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

surroundings  of  tlie  scene ;  the  bordering  ice 
which  was  close  below  us — for  the  channel  of 
water  took  a  central  course  a  little  bit  lower 
down  the  river,  and  the  ice  lay  on  both  sides 
of  it — Avhile  the  current  ran  underneath  as 
water  can  only  run  when  four  feet  of  solid 
ice  is  pressing  upon  it.  Once  under  that  ice 
and  all  Avas  over  with  us.  How  it  came 
about  I  cannot  tell,  but  all  at  once  I  found 
myself  free ;  I  suppose  one  struggle  some- 
thing wilder  than  the  rest  had  set  me  free, 
for  long  afterwards  one  of  my  legs  bore  to- 
kens of  the  fight.  In  another  second  I  was 
on  the  surface.  I  grasped  the  canoe,  but  it 
was  round  as  a  log,  and  turned  like  a  wheel 
in  the  water,  rolling  me  down  each  time, 
half -drowned  as  I  already  was. 

My  companion,  the  miner,  had  gone  at 
once  clear  of  the  canoe,  and,  catching  her  by 
the  stern,  had  held  himself  well  above  the 
water.  One  look  at  Kalder  and  Chare tte  on 
the  ice  told  me  they  were  both  utterly  de- 
moralized :  Kalder  had  got  behind  Charette, 
while  the  latter  held  the  line  without  well 
knowing  what  to  do  with  it.  Perhaps  it  was 
better  that  he  did  so,  as  the  line  was  a  misera- 
bly frail  one,  little  better  than  a  piece  of 
twine,  and  the  weight  upon  it  now  in  this 
strong  current  was  very  great.  Very  slowly 
Charette  hauled  in  the  line  that  held  us  to 
Mother  Earth ;  then  Kalder  recovered  his 
236 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

presence  of  miiul,  and  flung  a  leatliei  line 
across  the  upturned  canoe.  I  grasped  it,  and 
in  another  instant  the  bark  grated  against  the 
edge  of  the  ice.  Numbed  and  frozen  I  drew 
myself  on  to  the  canoe,  then  on  to  the  crum- 
bling ice  along  the  edge,  and  finally  to  the 
solid  pack  itself.  Wet,  water-logged,  numbed, 
and  frozen,  Ave  made  our  way  across  the  ice 
to  the  shore.  My  gun  and  revolver  had  van- 
ished; they  lay  somewhere  under  twenty 
feet  of  water. 

Thus,  without  arms,  with  watch  feebly 
ticking — as  though  endeavouring  to  paddle 
itself  with  its  hands  through  billows  of  water, 
with  Aneroid  so  elevated,  I  presume,  at  its 
escape  from  beneath  the  water,  that  in  a  sud- 
den revulsion  of  feeling  it  indicated  an 
amount  of  elevation  above  the  sea  level  to- 
tally inconsistent  with  anything  short  of  a 
Himalayan  altitude,  at  which  excited  state  it 
continued  to  exist  during  the  remainder  of 
my  wandering — we  reached  the  Hope  of 
Hudson.  There  never  was  truer  saying  than 
that  when  things  go  to  the  worst  they  mend. 
When  I  had  changed  my  dripping  clothes  for 
a  suit  of  Charette's  Sunday  finery,  when  Mrs. 
Charette  had  got  ready  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  bit 
of  moose  steak,  and  when  the  note-book, 
letters,  and  likenesses,  which  one  carries 
as  relics  of  civilization  into  the  realms  of 
savagery,  had  all  been  duly  dried  and  reno- 
237 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

vated,  matters  Ijegaii  to  look  a  good  deal 
better. 

Early  on  the  followiiig  morning  Charette 
and  Kalder  moored  a  couple  of  canoes  in  the 
open  water,  and  began  to  drag  for  the  gun 
with  a  fishhook  fastened  to  the  end  of  a  long 
pole ;  the  gun  was  in  a  leathern  case,  and  an 
hour's  work  resulted  in  its  recovery,  none  the 
worse  for  its  submersion.  My  ammunition 
was  still  safe,  but  as  the  supply  of  it  availa- 
ble for  a  breech-loader  was  limited,  we  were 
on  the  whole  badly  off  for  arms.  I  armed 
Kalder  with  a  flint  trading-gun — a  weapon 
which,  when  he  had  tried  it  at  a  mark,  and 
then  hammered  the  barrel,  first  on  one  side 
then  on  the  other,  he  declared  to  be  a  good 
"beaver  gun."  The  miner  also  i)0ssessed  a 
gun,  but  as  the  hammer  of  one  barrel  hung 
dangling  gracefully  down  the  side,  and  as  he 
possessed  no  percussion-caps  for  the  other 
barrel  (a  want  he  supplied  by  an  ingenious 
use  of  wax  vestas),  the  striking  of  his  match 
conveyed  a  similar  idea  to  the  mind  of  any 
bird  or  beast  at  whose  person  he  presented 
the  muzzle ;  and  while  the  gun  was  thinking 
about  going  off,  the  bird  or  beast  had  already 
made  up  its  mind  to  take  a  similar  course. 

Now  this  matter  of  weapons  was  a  serious 
item  in  our  affairs,  for  numerous  are  the  de- 
lays and  mishaps  of  an  up-river  journey  in 
the  wild  land  we  were  about  to  penetrate. 
238 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

Dowri  stream  ull  is  v/ell;  a  raft  can  always 
be  made  that  will  run  from  four  to  six  miles 
an  hour;  but  the  best  craft  that  man  can 
build  will  not  go  a  mile  an  hour  up-stream  on 
many  parts  of  these  rivers,  and  of  this  up- 
river  we  had  some  200  miles  before  us. 

On  the  27th  of  April  I  set  out  from  Hud- 
son's Hope  to  cross  the  portage  of  ten  miles, 
which  avoids  the  Great  Caiion,  at  the  farther 
end  of  which  the  Peace  Eiver  becomes  navi- 
gable for  a  canoe. 

We  crossed  the  river  once  more  at  the 
scene  of  our  accident  two  days  previously ; 
but  this  time,  warned  by  experience,  a  large 
canoe  was  taken,  and  we  passed  safely  over 
to  the  north  shore.  It  took  some  time  to 
hunt  up  the  horses,  and  mid-day  had  come 
before  we  finally  got  clear  of  the  Hope  of 
Hudson . 

The  portage  trail  curved  up  a  steep  hill  of 
800  or  900  feet ;  then  on  through  sandy  flats 
and  by  small  swamps,  until,  at  some  eight  or 
nine  miles  from  the  Hope  of  Hudson,  the 
outer  spurs  of  the  mountains  begin  to  flank 
us  on  either  side.  To  the  north  a  conspicu- 
ous ridge,  called  the  l^uffalo's  Head,  rises 
abruptly  from  the  plain,  some  3,000  feet 
above  the  pass ;  its  rock  summit  promised  a 
wide  view  of  mountain  ranges  on  one  side, 
and  of  the  great  valley  of  the  Peace  River  on 
the  other.  It  stood  alone,  the  easternmost 
239 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

of  all  the  ranges,  and  the  Caiion  of  the  Peace 
Kivei-  flowed  round  it  upon  two  sides,  south 
and  west. 

INIonths  before,  at  the  forks  of  the  Atha- 
basca River,  a  man  who  had  once  wandered 
into  these  wilds  told  me,  in  reply  to  a  ques- 
tion of  mine,  that  there  was  one  spot  near 
the  mouth  of  the  Peace  River  pass  which 
commanded  a  wide  range  of  mountain  and 
prairie.     It  was  the  Buffalo's  Head. 

Nine  hundred  miles  had  carried  me  now  to 
that  spot.  The  afternoon  was  clear  and  line ; 
the  great  range  had  not  a  cloud  to  darken 
the  glare  of  the  sun  upon  its  sheen  of  snow ; 
and  the  pure  cool  air  came  over  the  forest 
trees  fresh  from  the  thousand  billows  of  this 
sea  of  mountains.  The  two  men  went  on  to 
the  portage  end ;  I  gave  them  my  horse,  and, 
turning  at  right  angles  into  a  wood,  made 
my  way  towards  the  foot  of  the  Buffalo's 
Head. 

Thick  with  brule  and  tangled  forest  lay 
the  base  of  the  mountain ;  but  this  once 
passed,  the  steep  sides  became  clear  of  forest, 
and  there  rose  abruptly  before  me  a  mass  of 
yellow  grass  and  soft-blue  anemones.  Less 
than  an  hour's  hard  climbing  brought  me  to 
the  summit,  and  I  w^as  a  thousand  times  re- 
paid for  the  labour  of  the  ascent. 

I  stood  on  the  bare  rocks  which  formed  the 
frontlet  of  the  Buffalo's  Head.  Below,  the 
340 


THE  WILD  NOPvTII   LAND. 

pines  of  a  vast  forest  looked  like  the  toy- 
trees  wich  children  set  np  when  Noah  is  put 
forth  to  watch  the  animals  emerging  from 
his  ark,  and  where  everything  is  in  perfect 
order,  save  and  except  that  perverse  pig,  who 
will  insist  on  lying  upon  his  side  in  conse- 
quence of  a  fractured  leg;  and  who  must 
either  be  eliminated  from  the  procession  alto- 
gether, or  put  in  such  close  contact  to  Mrs. 
Noah,  for  the  sake  of  her  support,  as  to  de- 
tract very  much  from  the  solemnity  of  the 
whole  procession. 

Alas,  how  futile  is  it  to  endeavour  to  de- 
scribe such  a  view !  Not  more  wooden  are 
the  ark  animals  of  our  childhood,  than  the 
words  in  which  man  would  clothe  the  images 
of  that  higher  nature  which  the  Almighty 
has  graven  into  the  shapes  of  lonely  moun- 
tains !  Put  down  your  wooden  woods  bit  by 
bit;  throw  in  colour  here,  a  little  shade 
there,  touch  it  up  with  sky  and  cloud,  cast 
about  it  that  perfume  of  blossom  or  breeze, 
and  in  Heaven's  name  what  does  it  come  to 
after  all?  Can  the  eye  wander  away,  away, 
away  until  it  is  lost  in  blue  distance  as  a  lark 
is  lost  in  blue  heaven,  but  the  sight  still 
drinks  the  beauty  of  the  landscape,  though 
the  source  of  the  beauty  be  unseen,  as  the 
source  of  the  music  which  falls  from  the 
azure  depths  of  sky. 

That  river  coming  out  broad  and  glittering 
16  241 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND 

from  the  dark  mountains,  and  vanishing  into 
yon  profound  cliasm  with  a  roar  which  reaches 
up  even  here — billowy  seas  of  peaks  and 
mountains  beyond  number  away  there  to 
south  and  west — that  huge  half  dome  which 
lifts  itself  above  all  others  sharp  and  clear 
cut  against  the  older  dome  of  heaven !  Turn 
east,  look  out  into  that  plain — that  endless 
plain  where  the  pine-trees  are  dwarfed  to 
speargrass  and  the  prairie  to  a  meadow-patch 
— what  do  you  see?  Nothing,  poor  blind 
reader,  nothing,  for  the  blind  is  leading  the 
blind;  and  all  this  boundless  range  of  river 
and  plain,  ridge  and  prairie,  rocky  precipice 
and  snow-capped  sierra,  is  as  much  above  my 
poor  power  of  words,  as  He  who  built  this 
mighty  nature  is  higher  still  than  all. 

Ah,  my  friend,  my  reader!  Let  us  come 
down  from  this  mountain-top  to  ovir  own 
small  level  again.  We  will  upset  you  in  an 
ice-rapid;  Kalder  will  fire  at  you;  we  will 
be  wrecked ;  Ave  Avill  have  no  food ;  Ave  Avill 
hunt  the  moose,  and  do  anything  and  every- 
thing you  like, — but  we  cannot  put  in  words 
the  things  that  we  see  from  these  lonely 
mountain-tops  Avhen  Ave  climb  them  in  the 
sheen  of  evening.  When  you  go  into  your 
church,  and  the  organ  rolls  and  the  solemn 
chant  floats  through  the  lofty  aisles,  you  do 
not  ask  your  neighbour  to  talk  to  you  and 
tell  you  what  it  is  like.  If  he  should  do 
243 


THE   WILD   NOKTII   LAND. 

anything  of  the  kind,  the  beadle  takes  him 
and  puts  him  out  of  doors,  and  then  the 
policeman  takes  him  and  puts  him  indoors, 
and  he  is  punished  for  his  atrocious  conduct; 
and  yet  you  expect  me  to  tell  you  about  this 
church,  whose  pillars  are  the  mountains, 
whose  roof  is  the  heaven  itself,  whose  music 
comes  from  the  harp-strings  which  the  earth 
has  laid  over  her  bosom,  which  we  call  pine- 
trees  ;  and  from  which  the  hand  of  the  Un- 
seen draws  forth  a  ceaseless  symphony  roll- 
ing ever  around  the  world. 


343 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Jacques,  the  French  Miner — A  Fearful  Abyss — The 
Great  Canon  of  tlie  Peace  River — We  are  Off  on 
our  Western  Way — Unfortunate  Indians — A 
Burnt  Baby— "The  Moose  that  Walks." 

It  was  dusk  when  I  reached  the  ruined 
hvtt  which  stood  at  the  western  end  of  the 
portage.  My  men  had  long  preceded  me, 
and  Kakler  had  supper  ready  before  the  great 
fireplace.  The  fire  shed  its  light  upon  a  fourth 
figure;  it  was  that  of  Jacques,  the  French 
miner,  five  feet  two  inches  in  height ;  miner, 
trapper,  trader,  and  wanderer  since  he  left 
his  home  in  Lorraine,  near  the  war-famous 
citadel  of  Belfort,'Some  twenty  years  ago. 

I  brought  one  piece  of  news  to  the  hut :  it 
was  that  although  the  river  was  free  from 
ice  opposite  our  resting-place,  and  to  the  end 
of  the  reach  in  view,  yet  it  was  fast  closed  in 
for  the  twenty  or  thirty  miles  which  my 
mountain  climb  had  enabled  me  to  scan.  So 
here  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains  we  await- 
ed the  disruption  of  the  ice  and  the  opening 
of  our  watery  way. 

The  delay  thus  occasioned  was  unexpected, 
and  fell  heavily  on  my  sujjply  of  food ;  but 
244 


THE  "WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

rabbits  and  partridges  were  numerous,  and 
Kalder's  gun  proved  itself  to  be  a  worthy 
weapon  at  these  denizens  of  tlie  forest,  as 
well  as  at  the  beaver.  On  the  evening  of 
my  arrival  at  the  hut  I  had  seen  two  moose 
drinking  on  a  sand-bar  roar  the  nioutli  of  the 
Caiion,  but  the  river  lay  between  me  and 
them,  and  we  could  find  no  further  trace  of 
them  on  the  following  day. 

In  one  respect  the  delay  was  not  irksome 
to  me ;  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  exploring 
a  portion  of  the  Great  Canon,  and  forming 
some  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  difficulties  and 
dangers  which  made  it  an  impassable  chasm 
for  the  hardiest  ro>/fif/riirs. 

On  the  29th  of  April  the  ice  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  river  broke  up,  and  came  pouring 
down  with  great  violence  for  some  hours; 
blocks  of  ice  many  feet  in  thickness,  and 
weighing  several  tons,  came  down  the  broad 
river,  crushing  against  each  other,  and  lining 
the  shore  with  huge  crystal  masses. 

The  river  rose  rapidly,  and  long  after  dark 
the  grating  of  the  ice-blocks  in  the  broad 
channel  below  told  us  that  the  break-up  must 
be  a  general  one  ;  the  current  before  our  hut 
was  running  six  miles  an  hour,  and  the  ice 
had  begun  to  run  early  in  the  afternoon. 

All  next  day  the  ice   continued  to  run  at 
intervals,  but  towards  evening  it  grew  less, 
and  at  nightfall  it  had  nearly  ceased. 
245 


THE  WILD   XORTII   LAND. 

During  the  day  I  set  out  to  explore  the 
Canon.  Making  my  way  along  the  edge  of 
what  was,  in  ages  past,  the  shore  of  a  vast 
lake,  I  gained  the  summit  of  a  ridge  which 
hung  directly  over  the  Canon.  Through  a 
mass  of  wrack  and  tangled  forest  I  held  on, 
guided  by  the  dull  roar  of  waters  until  I 
reached  an  open  space,  where  a  ledge  of  rock 
dipped  suddenly  into  the  abyss :  on  the  outer 
edge  of  this  rock  a  few  spruce-trees  sprung 
from  cleft  and  fissure,  and  from  beneath, 
deep  down  in  the  dark  chasm,  a  roar  of  water 
floated  up  into  the  day  above.  Advancing 
cautiously  to  the  smooth  edge  of  the  chasm, 
I  took  hold  of  a  spruce-tree  and  looked  over. 
Below  lay  one  of  those  grim  glimpses  which 
the  earth  holds  hidden,  save  from  the  eagle 
and  the  mid-day  sun.  Caught  in  a  dark 
prison  of  stupendous  cliffs  (cliffs  which  hol- 
lowed out  beneath,  so  that  the  topmost  ledge 
literally  hung  over  the  boiling  abyss  of 
waters),  the  river  foamed  and  lashed  against 
rock  and  precipice,  nine  hundred  feet  below 
me.  Like  some  caged  beast  that  finds  escape 
impossible  on  one  side,  it  flew  as  madly  and 
as  vainly  against  the  other;  and  then  fell 
back  in  foam  and  roar  and  raging  whirlpool. 
The  rocks  at  the  base  held  the  record  of  its 
wrath  in  great  trunks  of  trees,  and  blocks  of 
ice  lying  piled  and  smashed  in  shapeless  ruin. 

Looking  clown  the  Canon  towards  the 
246 


THE  AVILD  NORTH   LAND. 

soutli,  a  great  gleu  opeurd  from  tlie  west; 
and  the  sun,  now  getting  low  in  the  heavens, 
jjoured  through  this  valley  a  flood  of  light  on 
red  and  grey  walls  of  rugged  rock;  while 
half  the  pine-clad  hills  lay  dark  in  shade, 
and  half  glowed  golden  hi  this  level  light; 
and  far  away,  beyond  the  shadowy  chasm 
and  the  sun-lit  glen,  one  great  mountain-peak 
lifted  his  dazzling  crest  of  snow  high  into  the 
blue  air  of  the  evening. 

There  are  many  indications  above  the 
mouth  of  the  Caiion,  that  the  valley  in  which 
our  hut  stood  was  once  a  large  lake.  The 
beaches  and  terrace  levels  are  distinctly 
marked,  but  the  barrier  fall  was  worn  down 
into  a  rapid,  and  the  Cailoji  became  a  slant 
of  water  for  some  thirty  miles.  At  the  en- 
trance the  rock  is  worn  smooth  and  flat  in 
many  places,  and  huge  cisterns  have  been 
hollowed  in  its  surface — "kettles,"  as  the 
voyageAiv  calls  them — perfectly  round,  and 
holding  still  the  granite  boulder  which  had 
chiselled  them,  worn  to  the  size  and  round- 
ness of  a  cannon-ball  from  ages  of  revolution. 
Some  of  these  kettles  are  tiny  as  a  tea-cup ; 
pthers  are  huge  as  the  tun  of  Heidelberg, 

When  I  got  back  to  the  hut,  night  had 
fallen.  At  the  end  of  the  long  river-reach 
a  new  moon  hung  in  the  orange-tinted  west; 
the  river  was  almost  clear  of  ice,  and  it  was 
i-esolved  to  start  on  the  morrow. 
247 


THE  WILD  NORTH  I, AND. 

There  was  a  certaiu  amount  of  vagueness 
in  the  programme  before  me.  For  seventy 
miles  the  course  was  perfectly  clear — there 
was,  in  fact,  only  one  road  to  follow — but  at 
the  end  of  that  distance  two  paths  lay  open, 
and  circumstances  could  only  determine  the 
future  route  at  that  point. 

If  the  reader  will  imagine  an  immense  let- 
ter Y  laid  longitudinally  from  west  to  east, 
he  will  have  a  fair  idea  of  the  Peace  lliver 
above  the  Cafion.  The  tail  of  the  Y  will  be 
the  seventy  miles  of  river  running  directly 
through  the  main  range  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains; the  right  arm  will  be  the  Findlay, 
having  its  source  300  miles  higher  up  in  that 
wilderness  of  mountains  known  as  the  Stic- 
keen ;  the  left  arm  will  be  the  Parsnip  River, 
sometimes  called  by  mistake  the  Peace  River, 
having  its  source  260  miles  to  the  south  near 
the  waters  of  the  upper  Frazer.  Countless 
lesser  streams  (some  of  them,  nevertheless, 
having  their  200  miles  of  life)  roll  down  into 
these  main  systems;  and  it  would  seem  as 
though  the  main  cliannel  had,  like  a  skilful 
general,  luiited  all  its  widely-scattered  forces 
at  the  forks,  seventy  miles  above  us,  before 
entering  on  the  gigantic  task  of  piercing  the 
vast  barrier  of  the  central  montains. 

Standing  on  the  high  ground  at  the  back 
of  the  hut  in  which  we  awaited  the  opening 
of  the  great  river,  and  looking  westward  at 


THE   WILD   NOUTfl    LAND. 

the  mountains  piled  together  in  endless 
masses,  it  was  difficult  to  imagine  bj-  Avhat 
process  a  mighty  river  had  cloven  asunder 
this  wilderness  of  rock, — giving  us  the  singu- 
lar spectacle  of  a  wide,  deep,  tranquil  stream 
flowing  through  the  principal  mountain  range 
of  the  American  continent. 

May-day  broke  in  soft  showers  of  rain ;  the 
mountains  were  shrouded  in  mist;  the  breeze 
was  not  strong  enough  to  lift  the  gauze-like 
vapour  from  the  tree-tops  on  the  south  shore. 
By  nine  o'clock  the  mists  began  to  drift 
along  the  hillsides;  stray  peaks  came  forth 
through  rifts,  then  shvit  themselves  up  again ; 
until  finally  the  sun  drew  off  the  vapours, 
and  clad  mountain  and  valley  in  blue  ami 
gold. 

We  loaded  the  canoe,  closed  the  door  of 
the  old  shanty,  and  shoved  off  upon  our 
western  way.  There  were  four  of  us  and  one 
dog — two  miners,  my  half-breed  Kalder,  my- 
self, and  Cerf-vola.  I  had  arranged  with 
Jacques  to  travel  together,  and  I  made  him 
captain  of  the  boat.  None  knew  better  the 
secrets  of  the  Upper  Peace  Kiver;  for  ten 
years  he  had  delved  its  waters  with  his  pad- 
dle, and  its  sand-bars  with  his  miner's  shovel. 

Little  Jacques — he  was  a  curious  specimen 

of  humanity,  and  well  worth  some  study  too. 

I  have  already  said  that  he  was  small,  but 

that  does  not  convey  any  idea  of  his  real  size. 

2i\i 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

I  think  he  was  the  smallest  man  I  ever  saw 
— of  course  I  mean  a  man,  and  not  a  dwarf; 
Jacques  had  nothing  of  the  dwarf  about  him 
— nay,  he  was  a  very  giant  in  skill  and  craft 
of  paddle,  and  pluck  and  daring.  He  had 
lived  long  u^jon  his  own  resources,  and  had 
found  them  equal  to  most  emergencies. 

He  could  set  his  sails  to  every  shift  of  for- 
tune, and  make  some  headway  in  every  wind. 
In  summer  he  hunted  gold;  in  winter  he 
hunted  furs.  He  had  the  largest  head  of 
thick  bushy  hair  I  ever  saw.  He  had  drawn 
3,000  dollars'  worth  of  pure  gold  out  of  a 
sand-pit  on  the  Ominica  Eiver  during  the  pre- 
ceding summer ;  he  had  now  a  hundred  fine 
marten-skins,  the  jiroduce  of  his  winter's 
trapping.  Jacques  was  rich,  but  all  the 
same,  Jacques  must  work.  As  I  have  said, 
Jacques  was  a  native  of  Belfort.  Belfort 
had  proved  a  tough  nut  for  Kaiser  William's 
legions ;  and  many  a  time  as  I  watched  this 
little  giant  in  times  of  peril,  I  thought  that 
with  200,000  little  Jacqueses  one  could  fight 
big  Bismarck's  beery  battalions  as  often  as 
they  pleased.  Of  course  Jacques  had  a  pair 
of  miner's  boots.  A  miner  without  a  pair  of 
miner's  boots  would  be  like  Hamlet  with 
Hamlet  left  out.  When  Jacques  donned 
these  boots,  and  swung  himself  out  on  a  huge 
forest  trunk  prostrate  in  a  rapid,  and  hewed 
away  at  the  giant  to  give  our  cauoe  a  pas- 
2oQ 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

sage,  lie  looked  for  all  the  world  like  his 
prototype  the  giant-killer,  and  the  boots  be- 
came the  seven-leagued  friends  of  our  early 
days. 

How  the  big  axe  flew  about  his  little  head, 
until  crash  went  the  monster,  and  Jacques 
sprang  back  to  rock  or  boat  as  lively  as  a 
squirrel. 

He  had  many  queer  stories  of  early  days, 
and  could  recount  with  pride  the  history  of 
the  stirring  times  he  had  seen.  What  miner's 
heart  does  not  soften  at  the  recollection,  in 
these  degenerate  days,  of  how  the  Vigilants 
hanged  six  roughs  one  morning  in  the  market- 
place of  Frisco,  just  two-and-twenty  years 
ago? 

We  poled  and  paddled  along  the  shore  of 
the  river ;  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other, 
dodging  the  heavy  floes  of  ice  Avhich  still 
came  at  intervals  along  the  current. 

In  the  evening  we  had  gained  a  spot  some 
twelve  miles  from  the  hut,  and  we  made  our 
camp  on  a  wooded  flat  set  in  a  wide  amphi- 
theatre of  hills.  The  next  morning  broke 
wet  and  stormy,  and  we  lay  in  camp  during 
the  early  part  of  the  day.  Towards  mid-day 
the  silence  was  broken  by  the  discharge  of  a 
gun  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  We  at 
once  answered  it,  and  soon  another  report 
replied  to  ours.  There  were  Indians  in  the 
vicinity,  so  we  iiiight  expect  a  visit.     About 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAXD. 

an  hour  later  a  most  wretched  group  appeared 
at  our  cainp.  It  consisted  of  two  lialf-clad 
women,  one  of  whom  carried  a  baby  on  her 
back;  a  wikl-looking  boy,  apparently  about 
twelve  or  fourteen  years  of  age,  led  the  way, 
carrying  an  old  gun ;  two  dogs  brought  up 
the  rear.  A  glance  at  the  dogs  showed  that 
food,  at  least,  was  plentiful  in  the  Indian 
camp — they  were  fat  and  sleek.  If  an  In- 
dian has  a  fat  dog,  3'ou  may  know  that  game 
is  abundant ;  if  the  dog  is  thin,  food  is  scarce ; 
if  there  be  no  dog  at  all,  the  Indian  is  starv- 
ing, and  the  dog  has  been  killed  and  eaten 
by  his  master.     But  to  proceed : — 

In  a  network  of  tattered  blankets  and  drij)- 
ping  rags,  these  three  wretched  creatures 
stalked  into  our  camp;  they  were  as  wet  as 
if  they  had  come  underneath  the  river  in- 
stead of  across  it;  but  that  seemed  to  give 
them  little  thought.  Jacques  undei'stood  a 
few  words  of  what  they  said,  and  the  rest 
was  made  out  by  signs; — all  the  men  were 
sick,  and  had  been  sick  for  months.  This 
boy  and  another  were  alone  able  to  hunt; 
but  moose  were  plenty,  and  starvation  liad 
not  come  to  supplement  sickness ;  the  women 
were  "packing"  the  men. 

Reader,  what  do  you  imagine  that  means? 

I  will   soon   tell   you.     It  means   that  when 

the  camp  moves — whicli   it  does  every  few 

days,  as  the  game  gets  hunted  away   fioni 

252 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

one  locality — the  women  carried  the  men  on 
their  backs  in  addition  to  tlu'  houseludd 
gods.  Literally  these  poor  womni  carried 
oJi  their  bent  backs  the  house,  the  clothes, 
the  food,  the  baby,  and  the  baby's  father. 

What  was  the  disease?  They  could  not 
tell. 

My  slender  stock  of  drugs  Avas  long  since 
exhausted;  I  had  nothing  left  but  the  pain- 
killer. I  gave  them  half  of  my  last  bottle, 
and  had  it  been  the  golden  wealth  of  the 
sand-bars  of  this  Peace  Kiver  itself,  it  could 
not  have  been  more  thought  of.  To  add  to 
their  misfortunes,  the  baby  had  come  to  grief 
about  a  week  previously— it  had  tumbled 
head  foremost  into  the  fire.  It  was  now  un- 
slung  from  its  mother's  back  for  my  inspec- 
tion. Poor  little  Beaver!  its  face  and  head 
had  got  a  dreadful  burning;  but,  thanks  to 
mountain  air  and  Indian  hardiness,  it  was 
getting  all  right. 

Had  I  anything  to  rub  on  it?  A  little  of 
the  Mai  de  Raquette  i)orpoise-oil  and  pain- 
killer yet  remained,  and  with  such  an  anti- 
dote the  youthful  Beaver  might  henceforth 
live  in  the  camp-fire. 

I  know  some  excellent  Christians  at  home 
who  occasionally  bestow  a  shilling  or  a  half- 
crown  upon  a  poor  man  at  a  church-door  or  a 
street-crossing,  not  for  the  humanity  of  the 
act,  but  just  to  purchase  that  amount  of 
253 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAXD. 

heaven  iu  the  next  world.  I  believe  they 
could  tell  you  to  a  farthing  liow  much  of 
Paradise  they  had  purchased  last  week  or  the 
week  before.  I  am  not  sure  that  they  are 
quite  clear  as  to  whether  the  quantity  of 
heaven  thus  purchased,  is  regulated  by  the 
value  set  on  the  gift  by  the  beggar  or  by  the 
rich  man ;  but  if  it  be  by  the  value  placed  on 
it  by  him  who  gets  it,  think,  my  Christian 
friends,  think  what  a  field  for  investment 
does  not  this  wilderness  present  to  you. 
Your  shilling  spent  here  amongst  these  In- 
dians will  be  rated  by  them  at  more  than  its 
weight  in  gold ;  and  a  pennyworth  of  pain- 
killer might  purchase  you  a  perpetuity  of 
Paradise. 

Jacques,  an  adept  in  Indian  trade,  got  a 
large  measure  of  dried  moose  meat  in  ex- 
change for  a  few  plugs  of  tobacco;  and  the 
Indians  went  away  wet,  but  happy. 

One  word  more  about  Indians — and  I  mean 
to  make  it  a  long  word  and  a  strong  word, 
and  perhaps  my  reader  will  add,  a  wrong 
word ;  but  never  mind,  it  is  meant  the  other 
way. 

This  portion  of  the  Beaver  tribe  trade  to 
Hudson's  Hope,  the  fort  we  have  but  lately 
quitted. 

Here  is  the  story  of  a  trade  made  last  sum- 
mer by  "  the  moose  that  walks. " 

"  The  moose  that  walks  "  arrived  at  Hud- 
2rA 


TTTE   WILD   NOKTII   LAND. 

son's  Hoi)e  early  in  the  s[)iiiig.  Tie  was 
sorely  in  want  of  gunpowder  and  shot,  i'or 
it  was  the  season  when  the  beaver  Icaxe  their 
winter  houses,  and  when  it  is  easy  to  shoot 
them.  So  he  earried  his  thirty  niartenskins 
to  the  fort,  to  barter  them  for  shot,  powdei-, 
and  tobacco. 

There  was  no  person  at  the  Hope.  The 
dwelling-house  was  closed,  the  store  shut  up, 
the  man  in  charge  had  not  yet  come  up  from 
St.  John's;  now  what  was  to  be  done?  In- 
side that  wooden  house  lay  piles  and  piles  of 
all  that  the  walking  moose  most  needed; 
there  was  a  whole  keg  of  powder ;  there  were 
bags  of  shot  and  tobacco — there  was  as  much 
as  the  moose  could  smoke  in  his  whole  life. 

Through  a  rent  in  the  parchment  window 
the  moose  looked  at  all  these  wonderful 
things,  and  at  the  red  flannel  shirts,  and  at 
the  four  flint  guns,  and  the  spotted  cotton 
handkerchiefs,  each  worth  a  sable  skin  at  one 
end  of  the  fur  trade,  half  a  sixjience  at  the 
other.  There  was  tea,  too — tea,  that  magic 
medicine  before  which  life's  cares  vanished 
like  snow  in  spring  sunshine. 

The  moose  sat  down  to  think  about  all 
these  things,  but  thinking  only  made  matters 
worse.  He  was  short  of  ammunition,  there- 
fore he  had  no  food,  and  to  think  of  food 
when  one  is  very  hungry  is  an  unsatisfactoiy 
business.  It  is  true  that  "the  moose  that 
255 


THE  WILD   NOIJTIT   LAND. 

■walks "  had  only  to  walk  in  through  that 
pavc'hmeiit  window,  and  help  himself  till  he 
was  tired.     But  no,  that  would  not  do. 

"Ah!"  my  Christian  friend  will  exclaim, 
"Ah!  yes,  the  poor  Indian  had  known  the 
good  missionary,  and  had  learnt  the  lesson 
of  honesty  and  respect  for  liis  neighbour's 
property." 

Yes ;  he  had  learnt  the  lesson  of  honesty, 
but  his  teacher,  my  friend,  had  been  other 
than  human.  The  good  missionary  had  never 
reached  the  Hope  of  Hudson,  nor  improved 
the  morals  of  "  the  moose  that  walks." 

But  let  us  go  on. 

After  waiting  two  days  he  determined  to 
set  off  for  St.  John,  two  full  days'  travel. 
He  set  out,  but  his  heart  failed  him,  and  he 
turned  back  again. 

At  last,  on  the  fourth  day  he  entered  the 
parchment  window,  leaving  outside  his  com- 
rade, to  whom  he  jealously  denied  admit- 
tance. Then  he  took  from  the  cask  of  pow- 
der three  skins'  worth,  from  the  tobacco  four 
skins'  worth,  from  the  shot  the  same;  and 
sticking  the  requisite  number  of  martens  in 
the  powder-barrel  and  the  shot-bag  and  the 
tobacco-case,  he  hung  up  his  remaining  skins 
on  a  nail  to  the  credit  of  his  account,  and  de- 
parted from  this  El  Dorado,  this  Bank  of 
England  of  the  Red  man  in  the  wilderness, 
this  Hunt  and  Roskell  of  Peace  River. 
256 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

And  when  it  was  all  over  he  went  his  wa}', 
thinking  he  had  done  a  very  reprehensible 
act,  and  one  by  no  means  to  l)e  jiroiid  of. 
Poor  "  moose  that  walks !  "  in  this  trade  for 
skins  3'ou  are  but  a  small  item ! 

Society  muffles  itself  in  your  toil- won  sables 
in  distant  cities,  while  you  starve  and  die 
out  in  the  wilderness. 

The  credit  of  your  twenty  skins,  hung  to 
i^he  rafter  of  Hudson's  Hope,  is  not  a  large 
one ;  but  surely  there  is  a  Hope  somewhere 
else,  where  your  account  is  kept  in  golden 
letters,  even  though  nothing  but  the  clouds 
had  baptized  you,  no  missionary  had  cast 
water  on  your  head,  and  God  only  knows 
who  taught  you  to  be  honest. 

Let  me  not  be  misunderstood  in  this  mat- 
ter. I  believe,  gentlemen  missionaries,  you 
mean  well  by  this  Indian.  I  will  go  further; 
you  form,  I  think,  almost  the  only  class  who 
would  deal  fairly  by  him,  but  you  go  to  work 
in  a  wrong  direction  ;  your  mode  of  proceed- 
ing is  a  mistake.  If  you  would  only  be  a 
little  more  human,  and  a  little  less  divine — 
if  you  would  study  the  necessities  of  the  sav- 
age races  amidst  whom  you  have  cast  your 
lot — what  good  might  ye  not  effect? 

This  Cree,  this  Blackfoot,  this  Chipewyan, 

this  Beaver — -what  odds  is  it,  in  the  name  of 

all  goodness,  whether  he  fully  understands 

the  numbered  or  unnumbered  things  you  tell 

17  257 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

hiiii.  Teach  him  the  simple  creed  whicli  you 
woukl  teach  a  cliikl.  He  is  starving,  and 
the  feast  you  give  him  is  of  delicate  and 
subtle  food,  long  since  compounded  from  the 
brain  of  schoolman  and  classicist.  He  is 
naked,  and  you  would  clothe  him  in  mysteri- 
ous raiment  and  fine  tissue,  which  time  has 
woven  out  of  the  webs  of  doubt  and  inquiry. 
All  this  will  not  warm  him  from  the  terrible 
blast  of  winter,  or  shelter  him  from  the 
drenching  rains  of  early  siimmer.  He  has 
many  faults,  some  virtues,  innumerable 
wants.  Begin  with  these.  Preach  against 
the  first ;  cultivate  the  second ;  relieve  as 
much  as  possible  the  third.  Make  him  a 
good  man  before  you  attempt  to  make  him  an 
indifferent  Christian.  In  a  word,  do  more 
for  his  body ;  and  after  a  bit,  when  you  have 
taught  him  to  help  his  wife  in  toil  and  trou- 
ble— to  build  a  house  and  to  live  in  it — to 
plant  a  few  potatoes  when  the  ground  thaws, 
and  to  hoe  them  out  ere  it  hardens  again — 
when  you  have  loosed  the  bands  of  starva- 
tion, nakedness,  and  hardship  from  the  grasp 
in  which  they  now  hold  him,  then  will  come 
the  moment  for  your  books  and  your  higher 
teaching.  And  in  his  hut,  with  a  well-filled 
stomach,  he  will  have  time  to  sift  truth  from 
falsehood,  amidst  all  the  isms  and  arians 
under  the  guise  of  which  you  come  to  teach 
him.  But  just  now  he  is  only  a  proletarian 
258 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

and  an  open-arian,  and  not  mncli  cvcmi  of 
these.  Meantime  I  know  tliat  yon  wish  well 
by  him.  You  are  ready  to  teach  him — to 
tell  him  about  a  host  of  good,  and  some  very 
indifferent,  persons;  but  lo!  in  the  middle  of 
your  homilies  he  falls  asleep,  and  his  sleep 
is  the  sleep  of  death.  He  starves  and  dies 
out  before  you.  Of  course  I  know  the  old 
old  answer :  "  He  is  hopeless ;  we  have  tried 
everything ;  we  can  do  nothing."  How  often 
have  I  not  been  told,  "  He  is  hopeless ;  we 
can  do  nothing  for  this  Red  nian !  "  But  will 
any  person  dare  to  say  that  men  such  as  this 
Indian  at  Hudson's  Hope  are  beyond  the  cure 
of  man?  If  they  be,  then  your  creed  must 
be  a  poor  weak  thing. 


259 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Still  "Westward — The  Dangers  of  the  Ice — We  Enter 
the  Main  Range — In  the  Mountains — A  Grizzly 
— The  Death  of  the  Moose — Peace  River  Pass — 
Pete  Toy— The  Ominica—"  Travellers "  at 
Home. 

We  held  our  way  up  the  river,  fighting 
many  a  battle  with  the  current.  Round  the 
points  the  stream  ran  strong,  and  our  canoe 
was  a  big,  lumbering  affair,  hollowed  out  of 
a  single  cotton-wood  tree  by  Jacques,  years 
before  on  the  Fraser  River,  and  ill-adapted 
to  the  ice,  which  was  our  most  dangerous 
enemy.  Many  a  near  shave  we  had  of  being 
crushed  under  its  heavy  floes  as  we  coasted 
along  beneath  their  imj^ending  masses. 
When  the  river  breaks  up,  portions  of  it 
stronger  than  the  rest  remain  still  frozen. 
At  the  back  of  these  the  floating  ice  jams, 
and  the  river  rises  rapidly  behind  the  barrier 
thus  flung  across  it.  Then  the  pack  gives 
way,  and  the  pent-up  waters  rapidly  lower. 
But  along  the  shore,  on  either  side,  the  huge 
blocks  of  ice  lie  stranded,  heaped  one  upon 
another,  and  the  water,  still  falling,  brushes 
off  from  beneath  the  projecting  pieces,  leav- 
260 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

ing  a  steep  wall  of  ice,  sometimes  twenty  and 
thirty  feet,  brightly  rising  above  the  water. 
Along  these  impending  masses  we  had  to 
steer  our  canoe,  and  hazardous  vv'ork  it  was, 
for  every  now  and  again  some  huge  fragment, 
many  tons  in  weight,  Avould  slide  from  its 
high  resting-place,  and  crash  into  the  river 
with  a  roar  of  thunder,  drivirg  tlie  billows 
before  it  half-way  across  the  wide  river,  and 
making  our  hearts  jump  half  as  much  again. 

At  one  point  where  the  river  ran  with  un- 
usual velocity  we  battled  long  beneath  a  very 
high  ice-wall.  Once  or  twice  the  current 
carried  us  against  its  sides.  We  dared  not 
touch  it  with  our  poles,  for  it  hung  by  a 
thread,  so  far  did  its  summit  project  over  our 
heads. 

Gently  we  stole  our  way  up  from  beneath 
it,  and  were  still  within  thirty  yards  of  it 
when  the  great  boulder,  looming  high,  crashed 
into  the  river. 

On  the  fourth  day  we  got  clear  of  this 
shore  ice,  and  drew  near  the  main  range  of 
the  mountains.  But  there  was  one  impor- 
tant question  which  experience  soon  told  me 
there  was  no  cause  for  anxiety  about — it  was 
the  question  of  food. 

Game  was  abundant;  the  lower  hills  were 
thickly  stocked  with  blue  grouse — a  noble 
bird,  weighing  between  thi-ee  and  four 
pounds. 

361 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

The  bays  of  the  river  held  beaver,  swim- 
ming through  the  driftwood,  and  ere  we  had 
reached  the  mountain  gate  a  moose  had  fallen 
to  my  trusty  smooth-bore,  in  one  of  the 
grassy  glens  between  the  river  and  the  snowy 
range.  It  was  literally  a  hunter's  paradise. 
This  was  the  worst  time  of  the  year,  except 
for  beaver,  but  necessity  knows  no  game  law, 
and  the  wilderness  at  all  times  must  feed  its 
wanderers. 

We  usually  camped  a  couple  of  hours  be- 
fore sundown,  for  in  this  northern  land  the 
daylight  was  more  than  long  enough  to  stiffen 
our  shoulders,  and  make  our  arms  ache  from 
pole  or  paddle.  Then  came  the  time  to 
stretch  one's  legs  over  these  great  grassy  up- 
lands, so  steep,  yet  so  free  of  rock ;  so  full 
of  projecting  point  and  lofty  proinontory,  be- 
neath which  the  river  lay  in  long  silvery 
reaches,  while  around  on  every  side  the  moun- 
tains in  masses  of  rock  and  snoAv,  lay  like 
giant  sentinels,  guarding  the  great  road  which 
Nature  had  hewn  through  their  midst. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  main  range,  the  val- 
ley of  the  river  is  about  two  miles  wide.  The 
river  itself  preserves  its  general  width  of  250 
to  300  yards  with  singular  uniformity.  The 
reaches  are  from  one  to  three  miles  in  length, 
the  banks  are  dry,  the  lower  beaches  are 
level  and  well  wooded,  and  the  current  be- 
comes deeper  and  less  rapid. 
263 


THE   "WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

On  the  8th  of  May  we  readied,  early  in 
the  morning,  the  entrance  to  the  main  range. 
A  short  rapid  marks  it,  a  rapid  easy  to  run 
at  all  stages  of  water,  and  up  which  we  towed 
our  canoe,  carrying  the  more  perishable  arti- 
cles to  save  them  from  the  spray — a  precau- 
tion Avhich  was,  however,  not  necessary,  as 
no  water  was  shij^ped. 

We  Avere  now  in  the  mountains.  From 
the  low  terrace  along  the  shore  they  rose  in 
stupendous  masses ;  their  lower  ridges  clothed 
in  forests  of  huge  spruce,  poplar,  and  birch ; 
their  middle  heights  covered  in  dense  thickets 
of  spruce  alone;  their  summits  cut  into  a 
thousand  varied  peaks,  bare  of  all  vegetation, 
but  bearing  aloft  into  the  sunshine  8,000  feet 
above  us  the  glittering  crowns  of  snow  which, 
when  evening  stilled  the  breezes,  shone  re- 
flected in  the  quiet  waters,  vast  and  motion- 
less. 

Wonderful  things  to  look  at  are  these 
white  peaks,  perched  up  so  high  above  our 
world.  They  belong  to  us,  yet  they  are  not 
of  us.  The  eagle  links  them  to  the  earth; 
the  cloud  carries  to  them  the  message  of  the 
sky;  the  ocean  sends  them  her  tempest;  the 
air  rolls  her  thunders  beneath  their  brows, 
and  launches  her  lightnings  from  their  sides ; 
the  sun  sends  them  his  first  greeting,  and 
leaves  them  his  latest  kiss.  Yet  motionless 
they  keep  their  crowns  of  snow,  their  glacier 
263 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

crests  of  jewels,  and  dwell  among  tlie  stars 
heedless  of  time  or  tempest. 

For  two  days  we  journeyed  through  this 
vast  valley,  along  a  wide,  beautiful  river, 
tranquil  as  a  lake,  and  bearing  on  its  bosom, 
at  intervals,  small  isles  of  green  forest.  Kow 
and  again  a  beaver  rippled  the  placid  surface, 
or  a  bear  appeared  upon  a  rocky  point  for  a 
moment,  looked  at  the  strange  lonely  craft, 
stretched  out  his  long  snout  to  sniff  the  gale, 
and  then  vanished  in  the  forest  shore.  For 
the  rest  all  was  stillness;  forest,  isle,  river 
and  mountain — all  seemed  to  sleep  in  unend- 
ing loneliness ;  and  our  poles  grating  against 
the  rocky  shore,  or  a  shot  at  some  quick-div- 
ing beaver,  alone  broke  the  silence;  while 
the  echo,  dying  away  in  the  vast  mountain 
canons,  made  the  relapsing  silence  seem  more 
intense. 

Thus  we  journeyed  on.  On  the  evening  of 
the  8th  of  May  we  emerged  from  the  pass, 
and  saw  beyond  the  extremity  of  a  long  reach 
of  river  a  mountain  range  running  north  and 
south,  distant  about  thirty  miles  from  us. 
To  the  right  and  left  the  Rocky  Mountains 
opened  out,  leaving  the  river  to  follow  its 
course  through  a  long  forest  valley  of  con- 
siderable width. 

We  had  passed  the  Eocky  Mountains,  and 
the  range  before  us  was  the  central  mountain 
system  of  North  British  Columbia. 
264 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

It  was  a  very  beautiful  evening ;  the  tops 
of  the  birch-trees  were  already  showing  their 
light  green  leaves  amidst  the  dark  foliage  of 
the  spruce  and  firs. 

Along  the  shore,  where  we  landed,  the 
tracks  of  a  very  large  grizzly  bear  were  im- 
printed freshly  in  the  sand.  I  put  a  couple 
of  bullets  into  my  gun  and  started  up  the 
river,  with  Cerf-vola  for  a  companion.  I  had 
got  about  a  mile  from  the  camp  when,  a  few 
hundred  yards  ahead,  a  large  dark  animal 
emerged  from  the  forest,  and  made  his  way 
through  some  lower  brushwood  towards  the 
river.  Could  it  be  the  grizzly?  I  lay  down 
on  the  sand-bank,  and  pulled  the  dog  down 
beside  me.  The  large  black  animal  walked 
out  upon  the  sand-bar  two  or  three  hundred 
yards  above  me.  He  proved  to  be  a  moose 
on  his  way  to  swim  the  river  to  the  south 
shore.  I  lay  still  until  he  had  got  so  far  on 
his  way  that  return  to  the  forest  would  have 
been  impracticable ;  then  I  sprang  to  my  feet 
and  ran  towards  him.  What  a  spring  he 
gave  across  the  sand  and  down  into  the  water ! 
Making  an  allowance  for  the  force  of  the  cur- 
rent, I  ran  towards  the  shore.  It  was  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards  from  me,  and  when 
I  gained  it  the  moose  was  already  three-parts 
across  the  river,  almost  abreast  where  I 
stood,  swimming  for  his  very  life,  with  his 
huge  unshapen  head  thrust  out  along  the  sur- 
365 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

face,  the  ears  thrown  forward,  while  the 
large  ripples  rolled  from  before  his  chest  as 
he  clove  his  way  through  the  water. 

It  was  a  long  shot  for  a  rifle,  doubly  so  for 
a  smooth-bore ;  but  old  experience  in  many 
lands,  where  the  smooth-bore  liolds  its  own 
despite  all  other  weapons,  had  told  me  that 
when  you  do  get  a  gun  to  throw  a  bullet  well, 
you  may  rely  upon  it  for  distances  supposed 
to  be  far  beyond  the  possibilities  of  such  a 
weapon;  so,  in  a  tenth  of  the  time  it  has 
taken  me  to  say  all  this,  I  gave  the  moose 
the  right  barrel,  aiming  just  about  his  long 
ears.  There  was  a  single  plunge  in  the 
water;  the  giant  head  went  down,  and  all 
was  quiet.  And  now  to  secure  the  quarry. 
Away  down  stream  he  floated,  showing  only 
one  small  black  speck  above  the  surface;  he 
was  near  the  far  side,  too.  Running  down 
shore  I  came  within  calling-distance  of  the 
camp,  from  which  the  smoke  of  Kalder's  lire 
was    already   curling    above    the   tree-tops. 

Out  came  Kalder,  Jacques,  and  A .     Of 

course  it  was  a  grizzly,  and  all  tlie  broken 
flint-guns  of  the  party  were  suddenly  called 
into  requisition.  If  it  had  been  a  grizzly, 
and  that  I  had  been  retiring  before  him  in 
skirmishing  order,  gods!    what  a  support  I 

was   falling    back    upon!     A 's    gun   is 

already   familiar    to    the   reader;    Kalder's 

beaver-gun  went  off  about  one  shot  in  three; 

366 


THE  WILD  NUKTII  LAND. 

and  Jacques  possessed  a  weapon  (it  had 
been  discarded  by  aa  Indian,  and  Jacques 
had  resuscitated  it  out  of  the  store  of  all 
trades  which  he  possessed  an  inkling  of)  the 
most  extraordinary  I  had  ever  seen.  Jacques 
always  spoke  of  it  in  the  feminine  gender. 
"  She  was  a  good  gun,  except  that  a  trifle  too 
much  of  the  powder  came  out  the  wrong  way. 
He  would  back  her  to  shoot 'plum'  if  she 
would  only  go  off  after  a  reasonable  lapse  of 
time,  but  it  was  tiring  to  him  to  keep  her  to 
the  shoulder  for  a  couple  of  minutes  after  he 
had  pulled  her  trigger,  and  then  to  have  her 
go  off  when  he  was  thinking  of  pulling  the 
gun-coat  over  her  again."  When  she  was 
put  away  in  the  canoe,  it  was  always  a  mat- 
ter of  some  moment  to  place  her  so  that  in 
the  event  of  any  sudden  explosion  of  her 
pent-up  wrath,  she  might  discharge  herself 
harmlessly  along  the  river,  and  on  this  ac- 
count she  generally  lay  like  a  stern-chaser 
projecting  from  behind  Jacques,  and  endan- 
gering only  his  paddle. 

All  these  maimed  and  mutilated  weapons 
were  now  brought  forth,  and  such  a  loading 
and  priming  and  hammering  began,  that,  had 
it  really  been  a  grizzly,  he  must  have  been 
utterly  scared  out  of  all  semblance  of  attack. 

Kalder  now  mastered  the  position  of  affairs, 
and  like  an  arrow  he  and  Jacques  were  into 
the  canoe,  and  out  after  the  dead  moose. 
867 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

They  soon  overhauled  him,  and,  slipping  a 
line  over  the  young  antlers,  towed  him  to  the 
shore.  AVe  were  unable  to  lift  him  altogether 
out  of  the  water,  so  we  cut  him  wp  as  he  lay, 
stranded  like  a  whale. 

Directly  opposite  a  huge  cone  mountain 
rose  up  some  eight  or  nine  thousand  feet 
above  us,  and  just  ere  evening  fell  over  the 
scene,  his  topmost  peak,  glowing  white  in 
the  sunlight,  became  mirror'd  in  most  faith- 
ful semblance  in  the  clear  quiet  river,  while 
the  life-stream  of  tlie  moose  flowed  out  over 
the  tranquil  surface,  dyeing  the  nearer  waters 
into  brilliant  crimson. 

If  some  painter  in  the  exuberance  of  his 
genius  had  put  upon  canvas  such  a  strange 
contrast  of  colours,  j^eople  would  have  said 
it  is  not  true  to  nature ;  but  nature  has  many 
truths,  and  it  takes  many  a  long  day,  and  not 
a  few  years'  toil,  to  catch  a  tenth  of  them. 
And,  my  dear  friend  with  the  eye-glass — you 
who  know  all  about  nature  in  a  gallery  and 
Avith  a  catalogue — you  may  take  my  word 
for  it. 

And  now,  ere  quitting,  probably  for  ever, 
this  grand  Peace  River  Pass — this  immense 
valley  which  receives  in  its  bosom  so  many 
other  valleys,  into  whose  depths  I  only  caught 
a  moment's  glimpse  as  we  floated  by  their 
outlets — let  me  say  one  other  word  about  it. 

Since  I  left  the  Wild  North  Land,  it  has 
368 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

been  my  lot  to  visit  the  chief  points  of  inter- 
est ill  Oregon,  California,  the  Vale  of  Shasta, 
and  the  Yoseuiite.  Shasta  is  a  loftier  moun- 
tain than  any  that  fcown  above  the  Peace 
River  Pass,  Yosemite  can  boast  its  half- 
dozen  waterfalls,  trickling  down  their  thou- 
sand feet  of  rock ;  but  for  wild  beauty,  for 
the  singular  spectacle  of  a  great  river  flowing 
tranquilly  through  a  stupendous  mountain 
range, — these  mountains  presenting  at  every 
reach  a  hundred  varied  aspects, — not  the 
dizzy  glory  of  Shasta  nor  the  rampart  preci- 
pices of  Yosemite  can  vie  with  that  lonely 
gorge  far  away  on  the  great  Unchagah. 

On  the  9th  of  May  we  reached  the  Forks 
of  the  river,  where  the  two  main  streams  of 
the  Parsnip  and  the  Findlay  came  together. 
A  couple  of  miles  from  their  junction  a  sec- 
ond small  rapid  occurs;  but,  like  the  first 
one,  it  can  be  run  without  difficulty. 

Around  the  point  of  junction  the  country 
is  low  and  marshy,  and  when  we  turned  into 
the  Findlay,  it  was  easy  to  perceive  from  the 
colour  of  the  water  that  the  river  was  rising 
rapidly. 

Some  miles  above  the  Forks  there  is  a  soli- 
tary hut  on  the  south  bank  of  the  river.  In 
this  hut  dwelt  Pete  Toy,  a  miner  of  vast  re- 
pute in  the  northern  mining  country. 

Some  ten  years  ago  Pete  had  paddled  his 
canoe  into  these  lonely  waters.  As  he  went, 
209 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

he  i)i'Ospected  the  various  Lars  Su(hleiily 
he  struck  one  of  surpassing  richness.  It 
yielded  one  dollar  to  the  bucket,  or  one  hun- 
dred dollars  a  day  to  a  man's  work.  Pete 
was  astonished;  he  laid  up  his  canoe,  built 
this  hut,  and  claimed  the  bar  as  his  property. 
For  a  long  time  it  j'ielded  a  steady  return ; 
but  even  gold  has  a  limit — the  bar  became 
exhausted.  Where  had  all  his  gold  come 
from? 

Ah,  that  is  the  question!  Even  to-day, 
though  the  bank  has  been  washed  year  after 
year,  "  it  is  still  rich  in  colour ; "  but  the 
"  pay-dirt "  lies  too  far  from  the  water's  edge, 
hence  the  labour  is  too  great. 

Well,  Pete,  the  Cornish  miner,  built  his 
hut  and  took  out  his  gold;  but  th^^t  did  not 
satisfy  him.  What  miner  ever  yet  was  satis- 
fied? Pete  went  in  for  fifty  things;  he  traded 
with  the  Indians,  he  trapped,  he  took  an  In- 
dian wife;  yet,  through  all,  he  maintained  a 
character  for  being  as  honest  and  as  straight- 
forward a  miner  as  ever  found  "  a  colour " 
from  Mexico  to  Cariboo. 

My  little  friend  Jacques  expected  to  meet 
his  old  brother  miner  Pete  at  his  hut,  but,  as 
we  came  within  five  miles  of  it,  a  beaver 
swam  across  the  river.  We  all  fired  at  him, 
and  when  the  smoke  had  vanished,  I  heard 
Jacques  mutter,  "Pete's  not  hereabouts,  or 
that  fellow  wouldn't  be  there."  He  was 
370 


THE  WILD  NOKTII  LAND. 

right,  for,  when  we  readied  the  Imt  an  hour 
later,  we  found  a  notice  on  the  door,  saying 
that  Pete  and  two  friends  had  departed  for 
the  Ominica  just  six  days  earlier,  being  to- 
tally out  of  all  food,  and  having  only  their 
guns  to  rely  upon.  Now  this  fact  of  Pete's 
absence  rendered  necessary  new  arrange- 
ments, for  here  the  two  courses  I  have  already 
allud  d  to  lay  open — either  to  turn  south, 
along  tlie  Parsnip;  or  north  and  west,  along 
the  Findlay  and  Ominica. 

The  current  of  the  Parsnip  is  regular ;  that 
of  the  Ominica  is  wild  and  rapid.  But  the 
Parsnip  was  already  rising,  and  at  its  spring 
level  it  is  almost  an  impossibility  ^o  ascend 
it,  owing  to  its  great  depth ;  while  the  Omi- 
nica, th(  ugh  difficult  and  dangerous  in  its 
canons,  is  nevertheless  possible  of  ascent, 
even  in  its  worst  stage  of  water. 

I  talked  the  matter  over  with  Jacques,  as 
we  sat  camped  on  the  gold-bar  opposite  Pete 
Toy's  house.  Fortunately  we  had  ample 
supplies  of  meat ;  but  some  luxuries,  such  as 
tea  and  sugar,  were  getting  dangerously  low, 
and  flour  was  almost  exhausted.  I  decided 
upon  trying  the  Ominica. 

About  noon,  on  the  10th  of  May,  we  set 
out  for  the  Ominica,  with  high  hopes  of  find- 
ing the  ri"er  still  low  enough  to  allow  us  to 
ascend  it. 

Ten  miles  above  Toy's  hut  the  Ominica 
271 


THE  WILD  NORTfl  LAND. 

enters  the  Peace  River  from  the  south-westr. 
We  reached  its  mouth  on  the  morning  of  tlie 
11th,  and  found  it  liigli  and  rai)id.  There 
was  hard  work  in  store  for  us,  and  the  diffi- 
culties of  passing  the  Great  Caiion  loomed 
ominously  big.  We  pushed  on,  however, 
and  that  night  reached  a  spot  where  the  river 
issued  from  a  large  gap  in  a  liigh  wall  ,f 
dark  rock.  Above,  on  the  summit  of  this 
rock,  pine-trees  projected  over  the  river. 
We  were  at  the  door  of  the  Ominica  caiion. 
The  warm  weather  of  last  week  had  done  its 
Avork,  and  the  Avater  rushed  from  the  gate  of 
the  canon  in  a  wild  and  impetuous  torrent. 
We  looked  a  moment  at  the  grim  gate  which 
we  had  to  storm  on  the  morrow,  and  then 
puc  in  to  the  north  shore,  where,  under  broad 
and  lofty  pines,  we  made  our  beds  for  the 
night. 

The  Findlay  River,  as  it  is  called,  after 
the  fur-trader,  Avho  first  ascended  it,  has 
many  large  tributaries.  It  is  something  like 
a  huge  right  hand  spread  out  over  the  coun- 
try, of  which  the  middle  finger  would  be  the 
main  river,  and  the  thumb  the  Ominica. 
There  is  the  North  Fork,  which  closely  hugs 
the  main  Rocky  Mountain  range.  There  is 
the  Findlay  itself,  a  magnificent  river,  flow- 
ing from  a  vast  labyrinth  of  mountains,  and 
being  unchanged  in  size  or  apparent  volume, 
120  miles  above  the  Forks  we  had  lately  left. 
273 


THE   WILD  NOKTII   LAND. 

At  tliat  distance  it  issnes  from  a  cafion  simi- 
lar to  that  at  whose  mouth  we  are  now 
cam[)e(l;  and  there  is  the  second  So-utli  Fork, 
a  river  something  smaller  than  tlie  Ominica, 
from  whose  mouth  it  is  distant  about  a  hun- 
dred miles. 

Of  these  rivers  nothing  is  known.  These 
few  items  are  the  result  of  chance  informa- 
tion i^icked  up  from  the  solitary  miner  who 
penetrated  to  this  canou's  month,  and  from 
the  reports  which  a  wandering  band  of  Sicka- 
nies  give  of  the  vast  unknown  interior  of  the 
region  of  the  Stickeen.  And  yet  it  is  all 
British  territory.  It  abounds  with  game  ;  its 
scenery  is  as  wild  as  mountain  peak  and 
gloomy  cafion  can  make  it;  it  is  free  from 
fever  or  malaria.  In  it  Nature  has  locked 
lip  some  of  her  richest  treasures—  treasures 
which  are  open  to  any  strong,  stout  heart 
who  will  venture  to  grasp  them. 

I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  sometimes  it 
seems  to  me  that  this  England  of  ours  is  liv- 
ing on  a  bygone  reputation ;  the  sinew  is 
there  without  the  soul ! 

It  is  so  easy  to  be  a  traveller  in  an  easy- 
chair — to  lay  out  a  map  and  run  one's  finger 
over  it  and  say,  "This  river  is  the  true  source 
of  the  Hunkydorum,  and  that  lake  finds  its 
outlet  in  the  Rumtif  oozle ; "  and  it  is  equally 
easy,  particularly  after  our  comfortable  din- 
ner at  the  club,  to  stroll  over  to  the  meeting 
18  273 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

of  the  Society  for  the  Preservation  of  Stic- 
klebacks in  Tahitian  Seas,  and  to  prove  to 
the  fashionable  audience  there  assembled, 
that  a  stickleback  was  the  original  progenitor 
of  the  human  race. 

Our  modern  Briton  can  be  a  traveller  with- 
out any  trouble.  He  is  a  member  of  "the 
Club,"  and  on  the  strength  of  his  member- 
ship he  can  criticize  "  that  fellow  Burton,"  or 
"  that  queer  fish  Palgrave,"  and  prove  to  you 
how,  if  that  "  poor  devil  "  Hay  ward  had  tried 
the  Chittral  Pass  instead  of  the  Palmirsteppe, 
"he  would  never  have  come  to  grief,  you 
know." 

I  know  one  or  tv/o  excellent  idiots,  who 
fancy  they  are  wits  because  they  belong  to 
the  Garrick.  It  is  quite  as  easy  to  be  a  trav- 
eller by  simply  belonging  to  a  Travellers' 
Club. 

Now  all  this  would  be  a  very  harmless 
pastime,  if  something  more  serious  did  not  lie 
behind  it;  just  as  the  mania  to  dress  our- 
selves in  uniform  and  carry  a  rifle  through 
the  streets,  would  also  be  a  very  harmless, 
if  a  very  useless,  pastime,  if  a  graver  ques- 
tion did  not  again  lie  hidden  beneath  "  our 
noble  Volunteers ; "  but  the  club  traveller 
and  the  club  soldier  are  not  content  Avith  the 
role  of  lounging  mediocrity  for  which  nature 
destined  them.  They  must  needs  stand  be- 
tween the  spirit  of  England's  better  genius, 
274 


THE   WILT)   NORTH   LAND. 

and  England's  real  toilers  of  the  wilds. 
They  must  supervise  and  criticize  and  cate- 
chize, and  generally  play  the  part  of  Fuzbuz 
to  the  detriment  of  everything  whicli  re- 
dounds to  the  true  spirit  of  England's  honour 
in  the  fair  field  of  travel  and  discovery. 

Let  there  be  no  mistake  in  this  matter. 
To  those  veterans  who  still  stand  above  the 
waves  of  time,  living  monuments  of  Eng- 
land's heroism,  in  Arctic  ice  or  Africa's  sun, 
we  owe  all  honour  and  love  and  veneration. 
They  are  the  old  soldiers  of  an  army  passed 
from  the  world,  and  when  Time  sums  up  the 
record  of  their  service  here  below,  it  will  be 
but  to  hand  up  the  roll  to  the  Tribunal  of 
the  Future. 

But  it  is  of  the  younger  race  of  whom  we 
would  speak — that  race  who  buy  with  gold 
the  right  to  determine  what  England  shall 
do,  and  shall  not  do,  in  the  wide  field  of 
geographical  research;  who  are  responsible 
for  the  wretched  exploratory  failures  of  the 
past  few  years;  who  have  allowed  the  palm 
of  discovery  and  enterprise  to  pass  away  to 
other  nations,  or  to  alien  sons.  But  if  we 
were  to  say  all  we  think  about  this  matter, 
we  might  only  tire  the  reader,  and  stop  until 
doomsday  at  the  mouth  of  this  Black  Canon 
of  the  Ominica. 


375 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  Black  Canon — An  Ugly  Prospect — The  Vanished 
Boat — We  Struggle  on — A  Forlorn  Hope — We 
Fail  Again — An  Unhoped-for  Meeting  and  a 
Feast  of  Joy — The  Black  Cafion  Conquered. 

Casting  off  from  camp,  on  the  morning  of 
the  12th,  we  pushed  right  into  the  mouth  of 
the  canon.  At  once  our  troubles  began. 
The  steep  walls  of  smooth  rock  rose  directly 
out  of  the  water — sometimes  washed  by  a 
torrent,  at  others  beaten  by  a  baekwhirl  and 
foaming  eddy.  In  the  centre  ran  a  rush  of 
water  that  nothing  could  stem.  Poling,  pad- 
dling, clinging  with  hands  and  nails  to  the 
rock;  often  beaten  back  and  always  edging 
up  again,  we  crept  slowly  along  under  the 
overhanging  cliff,  which  leaned  out  two  hun- 
dred feet  above  us  to  hold  nj^on  its  dizzy 
verge  some  clinging  pine-tree.  In  the  centre 
of  the  chasm,  about  half  a  mile  from  its 
mouth,  a  wild  cataract  of  foam  forbade  our 
passage ;  but  after  a  Avhole  morning's  labour 
we  succeeded  in  bringing  the  canoe  safely  to 
the  foot  of  this  rapid,  and  moored  her  in  a 
quiet  eddy  behind  a  sheltering  rock.  Here 
we  unloaded,  and,  clambering  up  a  cleft  in 
276 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

the  canon  wall  two  hundred  feet  above  us, 
passed  along  the  top  of  the  cliff,  and  bore 
our  loads  to  the  upper  or  western  end  of  the 
canon,  fully  a  mile  from  the  boat.  The  day 
was  hot  and  sweltering,  and  it  was  hard 
work. 

In  one  of  these  many  migrations  between 
camp  and  canoe,  it  chanced  one  evening  that, 
missing  the  trail,  my  footsteps  led  me  to  the 
base  of  a  small  knoll,  the  sides  and  summit 
of  which  were  destitute  of  trees.  Climbing 
to  the  top  of  this  hill  I  beheld  a  view  of  ex- 
traordinary beauty.  Over  the  sea  of  forest, 
from  the  dark  green  and  light  green  ocean  of 
tree-tops,  the  solid  mountain  mass  lay  piled 
against  the  east.  Below  my  stand-point  the 
lirst  long  reach  of  the  canon  opened  out ;  a 
grim  fissure  in  the  forest,  in  the  depths  of 
which  the  waters  caught  the  reflection  of  the 
sun-lit  skies  above,  glowing  brightly  between 
the  walls  of  gloomy  rock  deep  hidden  be- 
neath the  level  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  I 
stood  high  above  the  canon,  high  above  the 
vast  forest  which  stretched  between  me  and 
the  mountains ;  and  the  eye,  as  it  wandered 
over  the  tranquil  ocean  upon  whose  waves 
the  isles  of  light  green  shade  lay  gold-crested 
in  the  sunset,  seemed  to  rest  upon  fresh  in- 
tervals of  beauty,  until  the  solid  ramparts 
rent  and  pinnacled,  silent  and  impassive, 
caught  and  rivetted  its  glance ;  as  their  snow- 
877 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

white,  iiiutionless  liugevs,  carved  in  charac- 
ters tliat  ever  last,  the  story  of  earth's  loveli- 
ness upon  the  great  blue  dome  of  heaven. 

We  pushed  througli  the  dense  underwood, 
loaded  doAvn  with  all  the  paraphernalia  of 
our  travel,  and  even  Cerf-vola  carried  his 
load  of  boots  and  moose-meat.  Wlien  we 
had  finished  carrying  our  loads,  it  was  time 
for  dinner;  and  that  over,  we  set  to  work  at 
once  for  the  stiffer  labour  of  hauling  the 
canoe  up  the  rajtid  of  the  cailon ;  for,  remem- 
berj  there  was  no  hope  of  lifting  her,  for  she 
was  too  heavy,  and  tlie  rocky  walls  were  far 
too  steep  to  allow  of  it.  Up  along  shore, 
through  rapid  and  eddy  we  dragged  our  craft, 
for  here  the  north  side  had  along  its  l)ase 
ledges  of  rock  and  bits  of  shore,  and  taking 
advantage  of  these,  sometimes  in  the  canoe 
and  sometimes  out  of  it  in  the  water,  we 
reached  at  length  the  last  edge  or  cliff  round 
which  it  was  possible  to  proceed  at  the  north 
shore. 

For  a  long  time  we  examined  the  spot,  and 
the  surrounding  canon.  Jacques  and  I 
climbed  up  to  the  top  above,  and  then  down 
on  hands  and  knees  to  a  ledge  from  whicli  we 
could  look  over  into  the  chasm,  and  scan  its 
ugly  features,  I)eyond  a  doubt  it  was  ugly 
— the  rock  on  which  we  lay  hollowed  down 
beneath  us  until  it  roofed  the  shore  of  the 
canon  with  a  half  cavern,  against  which  a 
278 


THE   WILD   NOKTH   LAND. 

wild  wliii'lpool  boiled  up  now  and  Jigaiii, 
sinking  suddenly  into  stillness.  Even  if  we 
c.uuld  stretch  a  ling  from  above  the  rock  to 
where  our  canoe  lay  below  it,  she  must  have 
been  knocked  to  atoms  in  the  whirlpool  in 
her  passage  beneath  the  cavern  ;  l)ut  the  dis- 
tance was  too  great  to  stretch  a  line  across. 
The  next  and  only  course  was  to  make  a  l)old 
crossing  from  below  the  rock,  and  gain  the 
other  shore,  up  which  it  was  possible  to  drag 
our  canoe.  Once  over,  the  thing  would  be 
easy  enough  for  at  least  a  couple  of  hundred 
yards  more. 

AVe  climbed  back  to  the  canoe  and  im- 
parted the  result  of  our  investigation  to  the 
other  two  men.  From  the  level  of  the  l)oat 
the  proposed  crossing  looked  very  nasty.  It 
was  across  a  wild  rush  of  water,  in  the  centre 
of  the  caiion,  and  if  we  failed  to  make  a 
small  eddy  at  the  farther  shore  we  must  drive 
full  upon  the  precipice  of  rock  where,  below 
us,  boiled  and  seethed  the  worst  rapid  in  the 
canon — a  mass  of  wave,  and  foam,  and  mad- 
dened surge.  Once  out  of  the  sheltering 
eddy  in  which  we  lay  watching  this  Avild 
6cene,  we  would  be  in  the  midst  of  the  rush 
plose  above  the  rapid.  There  was  no  time 
to  get  headway  on  the  canoe.  It  would 
phoot  from  shelter  into  furious  curi'ent, 
and  then,  if  it  missed  yon  little  eddy,  look 
(^)Ut;  and  if  you  have  any  good  angels  away 
27y 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

at  home,  pray  that  they  uiay  be  praying  for 
you — for  down  that  white  fall  of  water  you 
must  go  broadside  or  stern  on. 

The  more  we  looked  at  it,  the  less  we  liked 
it;  but  it  Avas  the  sole  means  of  passing  the 
caiion,  and  retreat  came  not  yet  into  our 
heads.      We  took  our  places — Kalder  at  the 

bow,  Jacques  at  the  stern,  A and  I  in 

the  middle ;  then  Ave  hugged  the  rock  for  the 
last  time,  and  shoved  out  into  the  swirl  of 
Avaters.  There  Avas  no  time  to  think ;  Ave 
rose  and  fell ;  Ave  dipped  our  paddles  in  the 
rushing  waA-es  Avith  those  Avild  quick  strokes 
Avhich  men  use  Avhen  life  is  in  the  blow;  and 
then  the  canon  SAViing  and  rocked  for  a  sec- 
ond, and  with  a  Avild  yell  of  Indian  Avar- 
Avhoop  from  Kalder,  Avhich  rose  above  the 
rush  of  the  Avater,  Ave  Avere  in  the  eddy  at 
the  farther  shore. 

It  Avas  Avell  done.  On  again  up  the  canon 
Avith  line  from  rock  to  rock,  bit  by  bit,  until, 
as  the  sun  began  to  slope  Ioav  upon  the  forest, 
we  reached  the  foot  of  the  last  fall — the 
stiffest  Ave  had  yet  breasted.  AboA^e  it  lies 
our  cami>  upon  the  north  shore  ;  aboA^e  it  Avill 
be  easy  Avork — Ave  Avill  have  passed  the  worst 
of  the  Ominica  River. 

Made  bold  by  former  victory  Ave  passed 
our  line  round  the  rock,  and  bent  our  shoul- 
ders to  haul  the  canoe  up  the  slant  of  Avater. 
Kalder  with  a  long  pole  held  the  frail  craft 
380 


THE   WILD   XOKTII   LAND. 

out   from  the  rock.     A and  I  were  on 

the  line,  and  Jacques  was  running  up  to 
assist  us,  when  suddenly  there  came  upon  the 
rope  a  fierce  strain ;  all  at  once  the  canoe 
seemed  to  have  the  strength  of  half  a  dozen 
runaway  horses.  It  spun  us  round,  we  threw 
all  our  strength  against  it,  and  snap  Avent  the 
rope  midway  over  the  water;  the  boat  liad 
suddenly  sheered,  and  all  was  over.  We 
had  a  second  line  fastened  to  the  bow ;  this 
line  was  held  by  Kalder  at  the  moment  of 
the  accident,  but  it  was  in  loose  coils  about 
him,  and  of  no  service  to  stay  the  downward 
rush.  Worse  than  all,  the  canoe,  now  going 
like  an  arrow  down  the  rapid,  tightened  the 
tangled  coils  around  Kalder' s  legs,  and  I  saw 
Avith  horror  that  he  ran  every  chance  of  being 
dragged  feet  foremost  from  the  smooth  rock 
on  which  he  stood,  into  the  boiling  torrent 
beneath. 

Quicker  than  thought  he  realized  his  peril ; 
he  sprang  from  the  treacherous  folds,  and 
dragged  with  all  his  strength  the  quick-run- 
ning rope  clear  of  his  body;  and  tlien,  like 
the  Indian  he  was,  threw  all  his  weight  to 
stay  the  canoe. 

It  was  useless ;  his  line  snapped  like  ours 
had  done,  and  away  went  the  canoe  down 
the  surge  of  water — down  the  lip  of  the  fall 
— away,  away — bearing  with  her  our  sole 
means  of  travel  through  the  trackless  wilder- 
iibl 


THE  WILD  NORTit   LAND. 

iiess!  We  ci'ouched  together  on  the  high 
rock,  which  commanded,  a  long  view  down 
the  Black  Canon,  and  gazed  wistfully  after 
our  vanishing  boat. 

In  one  instant  we  were  reduced  to  a  most 
wretched  state.  Our  canoe  was  gone;  but 
that  was  not  half  our  loss— our  meat  and  tent 
had  also  gone  with  her ;  and  we  were  left  on 
the  south  shore  of  the  river,  while  a  deep, 
wide  and  rapid  stream  rolled  between  us  and 
our  cam}),  and  we  had  no  axe  wherewith  to 
cut  trees  for  a  raft — no  line  to  lash  them  to- 
gether. Night  was  coming  on ;  we  were 
without  food,  shipwrecked  in  the  wilderness. 

AVhen  the  canoe  had  vanished,  we  took 
stock  of  all  these  things,  and  then  deter- 
mined on  a  course.  It  was  to  go  back  along 
the  upper  edge  of  the  canon  to  the  entrance 
opposite  our  camping-place  of  the  last  night, 
there  to  make  a  raft  from  some  logs  which 
had  been  collected  for  a  cache  in  the  previous 
yeai',  then  to  put  together  whatever  line  or 
piece  of  string  we  possessed,  and,  making  a 
raft,  endeavour  to  cross  to  the  north  shore, 
and  thus  gain  our  camp  above  the  caiion. 

It  was  a  long  piece  of  Avork,  and  we  were 
already  tired  with  the  day's  toil,  but  it  was 
the  sole  means  by  which  we  could  ho[)e  to 
get  back  to  our  camp  and  to  food  again. 
After  that  we  would  deliberate  upon  further 
movements. 

2ya 


THE   WII>1)   ^'OKTM    LAN[). 

When  men  come  heavily  to  grief  in  any 
enterprise,  the  full  gravity  of  the  disaster 
does  not  break  all  at  once  upon  their  minds ; 
nay,  I  have  generally  found  that  the  first 
view  of  the  situation  is  the  ludicrous  one. 
One  is  often  inclined  to  laugh  over  some 
plight,  which  means  anything  but  a  laughing 
matter  in  reality. 

AVe  made  our  way  to  the  mouth  of  the 
cailon,  and  again  held  a  council.  Jacques 
did  not  like  the  idea  of  the  raft;  he  would 
go  down  through  the  Beaver  swamps  along 
the  south  shore  and,  it  might  be,  find  the 
canoe  stranded  on  some  beach  lower  down. 
Anyhow  he  would  search,  and  next  morning 
he  would  come  up  again  along  the  river  and 
hail  us  across  the  water  in  our  camp  with 
tidings  of  his  success :  so  we  parted. 

We  at  once  set  to  woik  to  make  our  raft. 
We  upset  the  logs  of  the  old  cache,  floated 
them  in  the  water,  and  lashed  them  together 
as  best  we  could,  with  all  the  bits  of  line  we 
could  fasten  together;  then  we  got  three 
rough  poles,  took  our  places  on  the  rickety 
raft,  and  put  out  into  the  turbid  river.  Our 
raft  sank  deep  into  the  water;  down,  down 
we  went;  no  bottom  for  the  poles,  which 
we  used  as  paddles  in  the  current  At  last 
we  reached  the  shore  of  a  large  island,  and 
our  raft  was  thrown  violently  amidst  a  pile 
of  (U'iftwood      We  scrambled  ou  shore,  broke 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

our  way  through  drift  and  thicket  to  the 
upper  end  of  the  island,  and  found  a  wide 
channel  of  water  separating  us  still  from  the 
north  shore.  Wading  up  to  our  middles 
across  a  shallow  part  of  this  channel,  we 
finally  reached  the  north  shore  and  our  camp 
of  the  previous  night ;  from  thence  we  worked 
through  the  forest,  and  just  at  dusk  we  struck 
our  camp  of  the  morning.  Thus,  after  many 
vicissitudes  and  much  toil,  we  had  got  safely 
back  to  our  camp;  and  though  the  outlook 
was  dreary  enough — for  three  large  rivers 
and  seventy  miles  of  trackless  forest  lay  be- 
tween us  and  the  mining  camp  to  which  we 
were  tending,  while  all  hope  of  assistance 
seemed  cut  off  from  us — still,  after  a  hearty 
supper,  we  lay  down  to  sleep,  ready  to  meet 
on  the  morrow  whatever  it  might  bring 
forth. 

Early  next  morning  the  voice  of  little 
Jacques  sounded  from  the  other  side.  He 
had  had  a  rough  time  of  it;  he  had  gone 
through  slough  and  swamp  and  thicket,  and 
finally  he  had  found  the  canoe  stranded  on 
an  island  four  miles  below  the  caiion,  half 
full  of  water,  but  otherwise  not  much  the 
worse  for  her  trip.  "  Let  us  make  a  raft  and 
go  down,  and  we  would  all  pull  her  u]3  again, 
and  everything  would  yet  be  right."  So, 
taking  axes  and  line  with  us,  we  set  off  once 
more  for  the  mouth  of  the  canon,  and  built  a 
2^ 


THE    WILD    NOHTFI    LAND. 

])ig  raft  of  dry  logs,  and  puslied  it  out  into 
the  current. 

Jacques  was  on  the  opposite  shore,  so  we 
took  hiui  on  our  raft,  and  away  we  went 
down  current  at  the  rate  of  seven  miles  an 
hour.  We  reached  the  island  where  our  cast- 
away canoe  lay,  and  once  more  found  our- 
selves the  owners  of  a  boat.  Then  Ave  poled 
up  to  the  caiion  again,  and,  Avorking  hard, 
succeeded  in  landing  the  canoe  safely  behind 
the  rock  from  Avhich  we  had  made  our  cele- 
brated crossing  on  the  previous  day.  The 
day  was  hot  and  fine,  the  leaves  of  the  cotton- 
Avood  Avere  green,  the  straAv berries  Avere  in 
blossom,  and  in  the  morning  a  humming-bird 
had  fluttered  into  the  camp,  carrying  the 
glittering  colours  which  he  had  gathered  in 
the  tropics.  But  these  proofs  of  summer 
boded  ill  for  us,  for  all  around  the  glittering 
hills  Avere  sending  down  their  foaming  tor- 
rents to  flood  the  Ominica. 

On  the  niglit  of  the  13th  the  river,  already 
high,  rose  nearly  tAvo  feet.  The  morning  of 
the  14th  came,  and,  as  soon  as  breakfast  Avas 
over,  we  set  out  to  make  a  last  attempt  to 
force  the  caiion.  The  programme  Avas  to  be 
the  same  as  that  of  tAvo  days  ago ;  to  cross 
above  the  rapid,  and  then  Avith  double-tAvisted 
line  to  drag  the  canoe  up  the  fatal  fall !  We 
reached  the  canoe  and  took  our  places  the 
same  as  before.  This  time,  however,  there 
285 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

was  a  vague  feeling  of  uneasiness  in  every 
one's  mind;  it  may  have  been  because  we 
went  at  the  work  coldly,  unwarmed  by  i)ie- 
vious  exercise;  but  despite  the  former  suc- 
cessful attempt,  we  felt  the  presage  of  dis- 
aster ere  we  left  the  sheltering  rock.  Once 
more  the  word  was  given,  and  we  shot  into 
the  boiluig  flood.  There  was  a  moment's 
wild  struggle,  during  which  we  worked  with 
all  the  strength  of  despair.  A  second  of 
suspense,  and  then  we  are  borne  backwards 
— slowly,  faster,  yet  faster — until  with  a 
rush  as  of  wings,  and  amid  a  roar  of  mad- 
dened water,  we  go  downwards  towards  the 
cailon's  wall. 

"  The  rock !  the  rock ! — keep  her  from  the 
rock!"  roared  Jacques.  We  might  as  well 
have  tried' to  stop  an  express  train.  We 
struck,  but  it  was  the  high  bow,  and  the  blow 
split  us  to  the  centre;  another  foot  and  we 
must  have  been  shivered  to  atoms.  And 
now,  ere  there  was  time  for  thought,  we  were 
rushing,  stern  foremost,  to  the  edge  of  the 
great  rapid.  There  was  no  escaj^e ;  we  were 
as  helpless  as  if  we  had  been  chained  in  that 
black  canon.  "Put  steerway  on  her!" 
shouted  Jacques,  and  his  paddle  dipped  a 
moment  in  the  surge  and  spray.  Another 
instant  and  we  were  in  it;  there  was  a  plunge 
— a  dash  of  water  on  every  side  of  us ;  the 
waves  hissed  around  and  above  us,  seeming 
286 


THE   WILT)  NORTH  LAND. 

to  say,  "  Now  we  liave  got  you ;  for  two 
(lays  you  have  been  edging  along  us,  flank- 
Nig  us,  and  tooling  us;  but  now  it  is  (mr 
turn !  " 

The  shock  with  Avhich  we  struck  into  the 
mass  of  breakers  seemed  but  the  prelude  to 
total  wreck,  and  the  first  sensation  1  experi- 
enced was  one  of  surprise  that  the  canoe  was 
still  under  us.  But  after  the  first  plunge 
she  rose  well,  and  amidst  the  surge  and  spray 
we  could  see  the  black  walls  of  the  canon  fiit-. 
ting  by  us  as  we  glanced  through  the  boiling 
flood.  All  this  was  but  the  work  of  a  mo- 
ment, and  lo !  breathless  and  dripping,  with 
canoe  half  filled,  we  lay  safe  in  quiet  eddies 
where,  below  the  fall,  the  water  rested  after 
its  strife. 

Behind  the  rock  we  lay  for  a  few  minutes 
silent,  while  the  flooded  canoe  rose  and  fell 
upon  the  swell  of  the  eddy. 

If,  after  this  escape,  we  felt  loth  to  try  the 
old  road  again,  to  venture  a  third  time  upon 
that  crossing  above  the  rapid,  let  no  man 
hold  our  courage  light. 

We  deliberated  long  upon  what  was  best 
to  be  done.  Retreat  seemed  inevitable  ;  Kal- 
der  was  strongly  opposed  to  another  attempt; 
the  canoe  was  already  broken,  and  with 
another  such  blow  she  must  go  to  pieces. 
At  last,  and  reluctantly,  we  determined  to 
carry  all  our  baggage  back  from  the  camp,  to 
287 


THE    WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

load  up  the  boat,  and,  ahandoning  the  Black 
Canon  and  the  Oniinica  altogether,  seek 
through  the  Tarsnip  River  an  outlet  towards 
the  South.  It  was  our  only  resource,  and  it 
Avas  a  poor  one.  ^^'earily  we  dragged  our 
baggage  back  to  the  canoe,  and  loaded  her 
again.  Then,  casting  out  into  the  current, 
we  ran  swiftly  doAvn  the  remainder  of  the 
caiion,  and  shot  from  beneath  the  shadows 
of  its  sombre  walls.  As  we  emerged  from 
the  mouth  into  the  broader  river,  the  sheen 
of  coloured  blankets  struck  our  sight  on  the 
south  shore. 

In  the  solitudes  of  the  North  one  is  sur- 
prised at  the  rapidity  with  which  the  eye  per- 
ceives the  first  indication  of  human  or  animal 
existence,  but  the  general  absence  of  life  in 
tlie  wilderness  makes  its  chance  presence 
easily  detected. 

We  put  to  shore.  There  was  a  camp  close 
to  the  spot  where  we  had  built  our  first  raft 
on  tlie  night  of  the  disaster;  blankets,  three 
fresh  beavers,  a  bundle  of  tra]>s,  a  bag  of 
flour,  and  a  pair  of  miner's  boots.  The  last 
item  engaged  Jacques's  attention.  He  looked 
at  the  soles,  and  at  once  declared  them  to  be- 
long to  no  less  an  individual  than  Pete  Toy, 
the  Cornish  miner;  but  where,  meantime, 
was  Pete?  A  further  inspection  solved  that 
question  too.  Pete  was  "  portaging "  his 
load  from  the  upper  to  the  lower  end  of  the 
288 


THE   WILD   NORTH    [.AND. 

caiion — lie  evidently  dreaded  tlie  (looded 
chasm  too  luucli  to  attem])t  its  descent  with 
a  loaded  canoe.  In  a  little  wliile  ap[)eared 
the  missing  Pete,  carrying  on  his  back  a  huge 
load.  It  was  as  we  had  anticipated — his 
canoe  lay  above  the  rapids,  ours  was  here 
below.  Happy  coincidence !  We  would  ex- 
change crafts ;  Pete  would  load  his  goods  in 
our  boat,  Ave  would  once  again  carry  our  bag- 
gage to  the  upper  end  of  the  caiion,  and  there, 
taking  his  canoe,  pursue  our  western  way. 
It  was  indeed  a  most  remarkable  meeting  to 
us.  Here  were  we,  after  long  days  of  use- 
less struggle,  after  many  dangers  and  hair- 
breadth escapes  amid  the  whirlpools  and 
rapids  of  the  Black  Chasm,  about  to  abandon 
the  Ominica  River  altogether,  and  to  seek  by 
another  route,  well  known  to  be  almost  im- 
passable at  high  water,  a  last  chance  of 
escape  from  the  difficulties  that  beset  us; 
and  now,  as  moody  and  discouraged,  we 
turned  our  faces  to  begin  the  hopeless  task, 
our  first  glance  was  greeted,  on  eanerging 
from  the  dismal  prison,  by  a  most  unlooked- 
for  means  of  solving  all  our  difficulties.  Lit- 
tle wonder  if  we  were  in  high  spirits,  and  if 
Pete,  the  Cornish  miner,  seemed  a  friend  in 
need. 

But  before  anything  could  be  done  to  carry 
into  effect  this  new  arrangement,  Pete  insisted 
upon    our   having   a   royal    feast.     He    had 
19  289 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

brought  Avitli  liiiu  fiom  tlie  iniiiiiig  oanip 
many  luxuries;  he  had  bacon,  and  beans, 
and  dried  ajjples,  and  sugar,  and  flour,  and 
we  poor  toilers  had  only  moose  meat  and 
frozen  potatoes  and  sugarless  tea  in  our  les- 
sening larders.  So  Pete  set  vigorously  to 
work ;  he  baked  and  fried,  and  cut  and  sliced, 
and  talked  all  the  time,  and  in  less  than  half 
an  hour  laid  out  his  feast  upon  the  ground. 
I  have  often  meditated  over  that  repast  in 
after-time,  and  wondered  if  Pete  really  pos- 
sessed the  magic  power  of  transmuting  the 
baser  victuals  known  to  us  as  pork,  beans, 
and  molasses  into  golden  comestibles,  or  had 
scarcity  and  the  wilderness  anything  to  say 
to  it?  It  was  getting  late  when  we  broke  up 
from  the  feast  of  Toy,  and,  loading  once 
more  all  our  movables  upon  our  backs,  set 
out  to  stagger  for  the  last  time  to  the  west 
end  of  the  portage.  There  the  canoe  of  the 
Cornish  miner  stood  ready  for  our  service; 
but  the  sun  was  by  this  time  below  the  ridges 
of  the  Ominica  Mountains,  and  we  pitched 
our  camp  for  the  night  beneath  the  spruce- 
trees  of  the  southern  shore. 

At  break  of  day  next  morning  we  held  our 
way  to  the  west.  It  was  a  fresh,  fair  dawn, 
soft  with  the  odours  of  earth  and  air;  be- 
hind us  lay  the  l^lack  Cafion,  conquered  at 
last;  and  as  its  sullen  roar  died  away  in  dis- 
tance, and  before  our  canoe  rose  the  snow- 
290 


THE  WILD   NORTH    LAND. 

covered  peaks  of  the  Central  Coluiuhiaii 
range,  now  looming  but  a  few  miles  distant, 
I  drew  a  deep  breath  of  satisfaction  —  the 
revulsion  of  long,  anxious  hours. 


291 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Untiring  Over-estimates  his  Powers — He  is  not 
Particular  as  to  the  Nature  of  liis  Dinner — Toil 
and  Temper — Farewell  to  the  Ominica — Ger- 
mansen — The  Mining  Camp — Celebrities. 

In  the  struggle  which  it  was  our  daily 
work  to  wage  with  Nature,  whose  dead 
weight  seemed  to  be  bent  on  holding  us  back, 
the  Avear  and  tear  of  the  things  of  life  had 
been  considerable.  Clothes  we  will  say  noth- 
ing of — it  is  their  function  to  go — but  our 
rough  life  had  told  heavily  against  less  per- 
ishable articles.  My  aneroid  was  useless; 
my  watch  and  revolvers  slept  somewhere  be- 
neath the  Peace  River ;  ammunition  was  re- 
duced to  a  few  rounds,  to  be  used  only  upon 
state  occasions ;  but  to  make  up  for  every  loss, 
and  to  counterbalance  each  misfortune,  Cerf- 
vola  had  passed  in  safety  through  rapid, 
wreck,  and  canon.  On  several  occasions  he 
had  had  narrow  escapes.  A  fixed  idea  per- 
vaded his  mind  that  he  was  a  good  hunting- 
dog  ;  it  was  an  utterly  erroneous  impression 
upon  his  part,  but  he  still  clung  to  it  with 
the  tenacity  I  have  not  unfrequently  seen 
evinced  by  certain  sporting  individuals  who 
292 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

fancy  themselves  sportsmen ;  and  as  tlie  im- 
pression sometimes  leads  its  human  holders 
into  strange  situations,  so  also  was  Cerf-vola 
beti-ayed  into  dangers  by  this  unfortunate  be- 
lief in  his  sporting  propensities.  A  very 
keen  sense  of  smell  enabled  him  to  detect  the 
l^resence  of  bird  ol"  beast  on  shore  or  forest, 
but  absence  from  the  canoe  usually  obliged 
him  to  swim  the  swollen  river — a  feat  which 
resulted  in  his  being  carried  down  sometimes 
out  of  sight  on  the  impetuous  torrent.  He 
swam  slowly,  but  strongly,  and  his  bushy 
tail  seemed  incapable  of  submersion,  remain- 
ing always  upon  the  surface  of  the  water. 
But  about  this  time  an  event  occurred  which 
by  every  rule  of  science  sliould  have  proved 
fatal  to  him. 

One  evening,  it  was  the  16th  of  May,  our 
larder  being  low,  we  camped  early  at  the 
mouth  of  a  river  called  the  Ozalinca.  Beaver 
were  plentiful,  fish  were  numerous;  and 
while  I  went  in  quest  of  the  former  with  my 
gun,  Jacques  got  ready  a  few  large  cod-hooks, 
with  bait  and  line.  I  pushed  my  way  up  the 
Ozalinca,  and  soon  reached  a  beaver-dam. 
Stealing  cautiously  to  the  edge,  I  saw  one  old 
veteran  busily  engaged  in  the  performance  of 
his  evening  swim ;  every  now  and  again  he 
disappeared  beneath  the  crystal  water,  rising 
again  to  the  surface  to  look  around  him  with 
evident  satisfaction;  presently  a  younger 
?93 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

beaver  appeared,  and  began  to  nibble  some 
green  willows  beneatb  the  water.  They  were 
a  little  too  far  to  afford  a  certain  shot,  so  I 
waited,  watching  the  antics  of  this  strangest 
denizen  of  American  rivers.  All  at  once  the 
old  veteran  caught  sight  of  me ;  his  tail 
flogged  loudly  on  the  water,  and  down  he 
went  out  of  sight.  I  waited  a  long  time,  but 
he  never  reappeared,  and  I  Avas  obliged  to 
content  myself  with  a  couple  of  ducks  ere 
night  closed  over  the  pond. 

When  I  reached  the  camp  on  the  Ominica 
River  my  three  companions  wore  long  faces : 
the  cause  Avas  soon  told.  Jacques  had  baited 
his  hooks  with  moose-meat;  in  an  evil  mo- 
ment he  had  laid  one  of  these  upon  the  shore 
ere  casting  it  into  the  water;  Cerf-vola  had 
swallowed  bait,  hook,  and  line  in  a  single 
mouthful;  the  hook  was  no  mere  salmon 
hook,  but  one  fully  two  inches  in  length,  and 
of  proportionate  thickness — a  full-sized  cod- 
hook.  I  turned  to  the  dog ;  he  lay  close  to 
my  outspread  buffalo  robe,  Avatching  the 
preparation  of  su^jper ;  he  looked  as  unmoved 
as  though  he  had  recently  swallowed  a  bit  of 
pemmican.  One  niight  have  fancied  from 
his  self-satisfied  appearance  that  large  fish- 
hooks had  ever  formed  a  favourite  article  of 
food  with  him.  I  gave  him  the  greater  por- 
tion of  my  supper,  and  he  went  to  sleep  as 
usual  at  my  head.  I  have  merely  to  add 
394 


TlIK    WILD   NOKTII    LAND. 

tliat  from  tliat  day  to  tliis  he  lias  bern  in 
most  excellent  health.  I  can  only  attiibnte 
this  fact  to  the  quantity  of  fish  he  had  con- 
sumed in  his  career;  a  moderate  computation 
would  allow  him  many  thousand  white  fish 
and  pike  in  the  course  of  his  life  and  as  he 
only  made  one  mouthful  of  a  large  white 
iish,  the  addition  of  a  fish-hook  in  the  matter 
was  of  no  consequence. 

Passing  the  mouths  of  the  ]\Iesalinca  and 
the  Ozalinca — two  Avild,  swollen  torrents 
flowing  through  a  labyrinth  of  mountain 
peaks  from  the  north-west — we  entered,  on 
the  third  day  after  leavhig  tlie  canon,  the 
great  central  snowy  range  of  Xorth-British 
Columbia.  The  Ominica  was  here  only  a 
slant  of  Avater,  100  yards  in  breadth ;  it 
poured  down  a  raging  flood  with  a  velcjcity 
difficult  to  picture. 

We  worked  slowly  on,  now  holding  by  the 
bushes  that  hung  out  from  the  fprest  shore, 
now  passing  ropes  round  rocks  and  tree- 
stumps,  and  dragging,  poling,  pushing,  as 
best  we  could.  The  unusual  toil  brought  out 
the  worst  characteristics  of  my  crew.  Kalder 
worked  like  a  horse  with  a  savage  temjjcr, 
and  was  in  a  chronic  state  of  laying  violent 
hands  upon  the  English  miner,  who,  i)oor 
fellow,  worked  his  best,  but  failed  to  satisfj'^ 
the  expectations  of  the  more  athletic  Indian. 
It  was  no  easy  matter  to  keep  the  peace  be- 
395 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

tween  them,  and  once,  midway  in  a  rapid, 
my  Indian  leaped  past  me  in  the  canoe, 
seized  the  unoffending  miner,  and  hurled  him 
to  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  This  was  too 
much.  I  caught  hold  of  a  paddle  and  quickly 
informed  my  red  servitor  that  if  he  did  not 
instantly  loosen  his  hold,  my  paddle  would 
descend  upon  his  ]iot-tempered  head;  he 
cooled  a  little,  and  we  resumed  our  upward 
way. 

]^>ut  for  all  this  Kalder  was  a  splendid  fel- 
low. In  toil,  in  difficulty,  in  danger,  alone 
he  was  worth  two  ordinary  men ;  and  in 
camp  no  better  wild  man  lived  to  cut,  to 
carry,  or  to  cook ;  to  pitch  a  tent,  or  portage 
a  load — no,  not  from  Yukon  to  wild  Hud- 
son's Bay. 

On  the  night  of  the  19th  of  May  we  reached 
the  mouth  of  the  Wolverine  Creek,  and 
camped  at  last  by  quiet  water.  We  were 
worn  and  tired  from  continuous  toil.  The 
ice-cold  water  in  which  we  so  frequently 
waded,  and  which  made  the  pole-handles 
like  lumps  of  ice  to  the  touch,  had  begun  to 
tell  on  hands  and  joints.  Nevertheless, 
when  at  night  the  fire  dried  our  dripping 
clothes  and  warmed  us  again,  the  plate  of 
pemmican  and  cup  of  tea  were  relished,  and 
we  slept  that  sleep  which  is  only  known  when 
the  pine-trees  rock  the  tired  wanderer  into 
forgetfulness. 

396 


THE   AVILI)  NORTH  LAND. 

The  last  rapid  was  passed,  and  now  before 
us  lay  a  broad  and  gentle  current,  lying  in 
long  serpentine  bends  amid  lofty  mountains. 
So,  on  the  morning  of  the  20th,  we  paddled 
up  towards  the  mining  camp  with  easy 
strokes.  Around  us  lay  misty  mountains, 
showing  coldly  through  cloud-rift  and  billowy 
vapour.  The  Jiigh  altitude,  to  which  by  such 
incessant  labour  we  had  worked  our  way,  was 
plainly  visible  in  the  backward  vegetation. 
We  were  nearing  the  snow-line  once  more, 
but  still  the  sheltered  valleys  were  bursting 
forth  into  green,  and  spring  was  piercing  the 
inmost  fastness  of  these  far-north  hills. 

And  now  I  parted  with  the  Ominica.  It 
lay  before  us,  far  stretching  to  the  westward, 
amid  cloud-capped  cliffs  and  snowy  peaks: 
known  to  the  gold-seeker  for  seventy  miles 
yet  higher  and  deeper  into  the  land  of  moun- 
tains, and  found  there  to  be  still  a  large, 
strong  river,  flowing  from  an  unknown  west. 

And  yet  it  is  but  one  of  that  score  of  rivers 
which,  2,o00  miles  from  these  mountains, 
seek  the  Arctic  Sea,  through  the  mighty  gate- 
way of  the  Mackenzie. 

Late  on  the  evening  of  the  20th  of  May  I 
reached  the  mining  camp  of  Germansen,  three 
miles  south  of  the  Ominica  Eiver.  A  queer 
place  was  this  mining  camp  of  Germansen, 
the  most  northern  and  remote  of  all  the 
mines  on  the  American  continent, 
397 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

Deep  in  the  bottom  of  a  valley,  from  whose 
steep  sides  the  forest  had  been  cleared  or 
burned  off,  stood  some  dozen  or  twenty  well- 
built  wooden  houses ;  a  few  figures  moved  in 
the  dreary  valley,  ditches  and  drains  ran 
along  the  hillsides,  and  liere  and  there  men 
were  at  work  with  pick  and  shovel  in  the  va- 
ried toil  of  gold-mining. 

The  history  of  Germansen  Creek  had  been 
the  history  of  a  thousand  other  creeks  on  the 
Avesteru  continent.  A  roving  miner  had 
struck  the  glittering  pebbles ;  the  news  had 
spread.  From  Montana,  from  Idaho,  from 
California,  Oregon,  and  Cariboo,  men  had 
flocked  to  this  new  find  in  the  far  north.  In 
1871,  1,200  miners  had  forced  their  way 
through  almost  incredible  hardships  to  the 
new  field;  provisions  reached  a  fabulous 
price ;  flour  and  pork  sold  at  six  and  seven 
shillings  a  pound !  The  innumerable  sharks 
that  prey  upon  the  miner  flocked  in  to  reap 
the  harvest;  some  struck  the  golden  dust, 
but  the  majority  lost  everything,  and  for 
about  the  twentieth  time  in  their  lives  became 
"  dead  broke ; "  little  was  known  of  the  se- 
verity of  the  season,  and  many  protracted  the 
time  of  their  departure  for  more  southern 
winter  quarters.  Suddenly,  on  their  return 
march,  the  winter  broke;  horses  and  mules 
perished  miserably  along  the  forest  trail.  At 
length  the  Frazer  Kiver  was  reached,  a  few 
298 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

canoes  Avere  obtained,  but  the  ice  was  fast 
filling  in  the  river.  The  men  crowded  into 
the  canoes  till  they  were  filled  to  the  edge ; 
three  wretched  miners  could  find  no  room; 
they  were  left  on  the  shore  to  their  fate ;  their 
comrades  pushed  away.  Two  or  three  days 
later  the  three  castaways  were  found  frozen 
stiff  on  the  inhospitable  shore. 

The  next  summer  saw  fewer  miners  at  the 
Camp,  and  this  summer  saw  fewer  still ;  but 
if  to-morrow  another  strike  were  t©  be  made 
500  miles  to  the  north  of  this  remote  Camp, 
hundreds  would  rush  to  it,  caring  little 
whether  their  bones  were  left  to  mark  the 
long  forest  trail.  The  miner  has  ever  got  his 
dream  of  an  El  Dorado  fresh  and  sanguine. 
No  disaster,  no  repeated  failure  will  discour- 
age him.  His  golden  paradise  is  always 
"  away  up  "  in  some  half-inaccessible  spot  in 
a  wilderness  of  mountains.  Nothing  daunts 
him  in  this  wild  search  of  his.  Mountains, 
rivers,  cafions  are  the  enemies  he  is  constantly 
wrestling  with  Nature  has  locked  her  treas- 
ures of  gold  and  silver  in  deep  mountain 
caverns,  as  though  she  would  keep  them  from 
the  daring  men  who  strive  to  rob  her.  But 
she  cannot  save  them.  When  one  sees  this 
wonderful  labour,  this  delving  into  the  bowels 
of  rock  and  shingle,  this  turning  and  twist- 
ing of  river  channel,  and  sluicing  and  dredg- 
ing and  blasting,  going  on  in  these  strange 
299 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

out-of-the-way  places,  the  thought  occurs,  if 
but  the  tenth  part  of  this  toil  were  expended 
by  these  men  in  the  ordinary  avocations  of 
life,  they  would  all  be  rich  or  comfortable. 
The  miner  cannot  settle  down — at  least  for  a 
long  time — the  life  has  a  strange  fascination 
for  him ;  he  Avill  tell  you  that  for  one  haul  he 
has  drawn  twenty  blanks;  he  Avill  tell  you 
that  he  has  lost  more  money  in  one  night  at 
"faro,"  or  "poker,"  than  would  suffice  to 
have  kept  him  decently  for  five  years;  he 
will  tell  you  that  he  has  frequently  to  put 
two  dollars  into  the  ground  in  order  to  dig 
one  dollar  out  of  it,  and  yet  he  cannot  give 
up  the  wild,  free  life.  He  is  emphatically  a 
queer  genius ;  and  no  matter  what  his  coun- 
try, his  characteristics  are  the  same.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  discipline  him,  yet  I 
think  that,  Avere  he  amenable  to  even  a  sem- 
blance of  restraint  and  command,  40,000 
miners  might  conquer  a  continent. 

His  knowledge  of  words  is  peculiar;  he  has 
a  thousand  phrases  of  his  own  which  it  would 
be  needless  to  follow  him  into.  "Don't  pre- 
varicate, sir !  "  thundered  a  British  Colum- 
bian judge  to  a  witness  from  the  mines, 
"don't  prevaricate,  sir!"  "Can't  help  it, 
judge,"  answered  the  miner.  "Ever  since  I 
got  a  kick  in  the  mouth  from  a  mule  that 
knocked  my  teeth  out,  I  prevaricate  a  good 
deal." 

300 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  between  the 
wooden  houses  and  the  rushing  creek  of  Ger- 
mansen,  I  pitched  my  tent  for  a  short  time, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  had  the  hon- 
our of  becoming  acquainted,  either  personally 
or  by  reputation,  with  Doe  English,  Dancing 
Bill,  Black  Jack,  Dirty-faced  Pete,  'Ned 
Walsh,  Rufus  Sylvester,  and  several  others 
among  the  leading  "boys"  of  the  northern 
mining  country.  I  found  them  men  who 
under  the  rough  garb  of  mountain  miners  had 
a  large  and  varied  experience  in  wild  life  and 
adventure  —  generous,  free-hearted  fellows 
too,  who  in  the  race  for  gold  had  not  thrown 
off  as  dead  weight,  half  as  much  of  human 
kindness  as  many  of  their  brothers,  who,  on 
a  more  civilized  course,  start  for  the  same  race 
too. 


801 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

Mr.  Eufus  Sylvester — The  Uutiiing  Developes  a 
New  Sphere  of  Usefulness — jMauseu — A  Last 
Landmark. 

Ox  the  evening  of  my  arrival  at  Germansen 
Mr.  Rufus  Sylvester  appeared  from  the  south, 
carrying  the  mail  for  the  camp.  Eleven  days 
earlier  he  had  started  from  Quesnelle  on  the 
Erazer  River;  the  trail  was,  he  said,  in  a 
very  bad  state ;  snow  yet  lay  five  feet  deep 
on  the  Bald,  and  Nation  River  Mountains; 
the  rivers  and  streams  were  running  bank- 
high  ;  he  had  swum  his  horses  eleven  times, 
and  finally  left  them  on  the  south  side  of  the 
Bald  Mountains,  coming  on  on  foot  to  his 
destination.  The  distance  to  Quesnelle  was 
about  330  miles.  Such  was  a  summary  of 
his  report. 

The  prospect  was  not  encouraging;  but 
where  movement  is  desired,  if  people  wait 
until  prospects  become  encouraging,  they  will 
be  likely  to  rest  stationary  a  long  time.  My 
plan  of  movement  to  the  south  was  this :  I 
would  dispense  with  everything  save  those 
articles  absolutely  necessary  to  travel ;  food 
and  clotliing  would  be  brought  to  the  lowest 
302 


THE    WILD   NOHTir   T.AXD. 

limits,  and  then,  witli  our  t^oods  on  our  shoul- 
ders, and  with  Cerf-vola  carrying  on  his  hack 
a  load  of  diy  moat  sutfit-ieut  to  till  his  stomach 
during  ten  days,  we  would  set  out  on  foot  to 
cross  the  Bald  Mountains.  Thirty  miles 
from  the  mining  Camp,  at  the  south  side  o.f 
the  mountain  range,  Rufus  Sylvester  had  left 
a  horse  and  a  mule ;  we  would  recover  them 
again,  and,  packing  our  goods  upon  them, 
make  our  way  to  Fort  St.  James  on  the  wild 
shores  of  Stuart's  Lake — midway  on  our 
journey  to  where,  on  the  bend  of  the  Frazer 
River,  the  first  vestige  of  civilization  woiM 
greet  us  at  the  city  called  Quesnelle. 

It  was  the  25th  of  May  when,  having 
loaded  my  goods  upon  the  back  of  a  Hydah 
Indian  from  the  coast,  and  giving  Kalder  a 
lighter  load  to  carry,  I  set  off  with  Cerf-vola 
for  the  south.  Idleness  during  the  past 
three  weeks  had  produced  a  considerable 
change  in  the  person  of  the  Untiring.  He 
had  grown  fat  and  round,  and  it  was  no  easy 
matter  to  strap  his  bag  of  dry  meat  upon  his 
back  so  as  to  prevent  it  performing  the  feat 
known,  in  the  case  of  a  saddle  on  a  horse's 
back,  by  the  term  "turning."  It  appeared 
to  be  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  the 
Untiring  whether  the  meat  destined  for  his 
stomach  was  carried  beneath  that  portion  of 
his  body  or  above  his  back;  he  pursued  the 
even  tenour  of  his  way  in  either  case,  but  a 
808 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

disposition  on  liis  part  to  "  squat "  in  every 
pool  of  water  or  patch  of  mud  along  the  trail, 
perfectly  regardless  of  the  position  of  his  ten 
days'  rations,  had  the  effect  of  quickly 
changing  its  nature,  when  it  was  underneath 
liim,  from  dry  meat  to  very  wet  meat,  and 
making  the  bag  which  held  it  a  kind  of  water- 
cart  for  the  drier  portions  of  the  trail. 

Twelve  miles  from  Germansen  Creek  stood 
the  other  mining  camp  of  Hansen.  More 
ditches,  more  drains,  more  miners,  more 
drinking;  two  or  three  larger  saloons;  more 
sixes  and  sevens  of  diamonds  and  debilitated 
looking  kings  and  queens  of  spades  littering 
the  dusty  street ;  the  wrecks  of  "  faro  "  and 
"  poker  "  and  "  seven  up  "  and  "  three-card 
monte ; "  more  Chinamen  and  Hydah  squaws 
than  Germansen  could  boast  of;  and  Hansen 
lay  the  same  miserable-looking  place  that  its 
older  rival  had  already  appeared  to  me. 
Yet  every  person  was  kind  and  obliging. 
Hr.  Grahame,  postmaster,  dealer  in  gold- 
dust,  and  general  merchant,  cooked  with  his 
own  hands  a  most  excellent  repast,  the  dis- 
cussion of  which  was  followed  by  further  in- 
troductions to  mining  celebrities.  Prominent 
among  many  Joes  and  Davises  and  Petes  and 
Bills,  I  recollect  one  well-known  name ;  it 
Avas  the  name  of  Smith.  We  have  all  known, 
I  presume,  some  person  of  that  name.  We 
liave  also  known  innumerable  prefixes  to  it, 
304 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

such  as  Sydney,  Washington,  Ihickingham, 
&('.,  Sic,  but  liere  at  jMansen  dwelt  a  com- 
pletely new  Sniitli.  No  hero  of  ancient  or 
modern  times  had  been  called  on  to  supply  a 
prefix  or  a  second  name,  but  in  the  person  of 
Mr.  Peace  Kiver  Smith  I  recognized  a  new 
title  for  the  old  and  familiar  family. 

Mr.  Stirling's  saloon  at  Mansen  was  a  very 
fair  representation  of  what,  in  this  country, 
we  would  call  a  "public  house,"  but  in  some 
respects  the  saloon  and  the  public  differ 
widely.  The  American  saloon  is  eminently 
patriotic.  Western  America,  and  indeed 
America  generally,  takes  its  "  cocktails  "  in 
the  presence  of  soul-stirring  mementoes; 
from  above  the  lemons,  the  coloured  wine- 
glass, the  bunch  of  mint,  and  the  many  alco- 
holic mixtures  which  stand  behind  the  bar — 
General  Washington,  Abraham  Lincoln,  and 
President  Grant  look  placidly  n-pon  the  tip- 
pling miner ;  but  though  Mr.  Stirling's  saloon 
could  boast  its  card-tables,  its  patriotic  pic- 
tures, and  its  many  "  sHngs  "  and  "juleps,"  in 
one  important  respect  it  fell  far  short  of  the 
ideal  mining  paradise.  It  was  not  a  hnrdy- 
house ;  music  and  dancing  were  both  wanting. 
It  Avas  a  serious  drawback,  but  it  was  ex- 
plained to  me  that  Mansen  had  become  too 
much  "  ])layed  out  "  to  afford  to  pay  the  piper, 
and  hurdies  had  never  penetrated  to  the  fast- 
nesses of  the  Peace  River  mines. 
20  305 


THE  WILD  XORTII  LAND. 

AVhen  the  last  mining  hero  had  departed, 
I  lay  down  in  Mr.  Grahame's  sanctum,  to 
snatch  a  few  hours'  sleep  ere  the  first  dawn 
would  call  us  to  the  march.  I  lay  on  the 
postmaster's  bed  while  that  functionary  got 
together  his  little  bags  of  gold-dust,  his  few 
letters  and  mail  matters  for  my  companion, 
Rufus  Sylvester  the  express  man.  Tliiswork 
occupied  him  until  shortly  before  dawn,  when 
he  abandoned  it  to  again  resume  the  duties 
of  cook  in  preparing  my  breakfast.  Day  was 
just  breaking  over  the  pine-clad  hills  as  we 
bade  adieu  to  this  kind  host,  and  with  rapid 
strides  set  out  through  the  sleeping  camp. 
Kalder,  theHydah  Indian,  and  the  Untiring, 
had  preceded  us  on  the  previous  evening,  and 
I  was  alone  with  the  express  man,  Mv.  Rufus 
Sylvester.  He  carried  on  his  back  a  small, 
compact,  but  heavy  load,  some  GOO  ounces  of 
gold-dust  being  the  weightiest  item ;  but, 
nevertheless,  he  crossed  with  vapid  steps  over 
the  frozen  ground.  We  carried  in  our  hands 
snow-shoes  for  the  mountain  range  still  lying 
some  eight  miles  away.  The  trail  led  o'er 
hill  and  through  valley,  gradually  ascending 
for  the  first  six  miles,  until  through  breaks 
in  the  pines  I  could  discern  the  snowy 
ridges  towards  which  we  Avere  tending.  Soon 
the  white  patches  lay  around  us  in  the  for- 
est, but  the  frost  was  severe,  and  the  surface 
was  hard  under  our  moccasins.  Finding  the 
306 


THE   WILD   NOHTII   LAND. 

snow-cnist  was  sufficient  to  bear  our  weiglit, 
we  niched  the  snow-shoes  and  held  our  course 
up  the  mountain.  Deeper  grew  tliesnow; 
thinner  and  smaller  became  the  ])ines — 
dwarf  things  that  hung  Avisps  of  blue-grey 
moss  from  their  shrunken  limbs.  At  last 
they  ceased  to  be  around  us,  and  the  summit- 
ridges  of  the  Bald  IMountain  spread  out 
under  the  low-hung  clouds.  The  big  white 
ptarmigan  bleated  like  sheep  in  the  thin 
frosty  air.  We  crossed  the  topmost  ridge, 
where  snow  ever  dwells,  and  saw  beneath  a 
far-stretching  valley.  I  turned  to  take  a 
last  look  to  the  north ;  the  clouds  had  lifted, 
the  sun  had  risen  some  time ;  away  over  an 
ocean  of  peaks  lay  the  lofty  ridge  1  had 
named  Galty  More  a  fortnight  earlier,  Avhen 
emerging  from  the  Black  Canon.  He  rose 
above  us  then  the  monarch  of  the  range ; 
now  he  lay  far  behind,  one  of  the  last  land- 
marks of  the  Wild  North  Land. 

We  began  to  descend;  again  the  sparse 
trees  were  around  us;  the  snow  gradually 
lessened ;  and  after  five  hours  of  incessant 
and  rapid  walking  we  reached  a  patch  of 
dry  grass,  where  Kalder,  the  English  miner, 
and  the  Indians  with  the  horses  were  await- 
ing us. 


307 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Britisli  Columbia— Boundaries  Again— Juan  de  Fu^a 
— Carver — The  Shining  Mountains — Jacob  As- 
tor — The  Monarch  of  Sahnon — Oregon — "Rid- 
ing and  Tying  " — Nation  Lake — The  Pacific. 

We  have  been  a  long  time  now  in  that 
portion  of  the  American  continent  which  is 
known  as  British  Columbia,  and  yet  we  have 
said  but  little  of  its  early  life,  or  how  it 
came  into  the  limits  of  a  defined  colony. 

Sometime  about  that  evening  when  we 
lay  camped  (noAV  a  long  way  back)  upon  the 
hill  where  the  grim  face  of  Chimeroo  looked 
blankly  out  upon  the  darkening  wilderness, 
we  entered  for  the  first  time  the  territory 
which  bears  the  name  of  British  Columbia. 

Nature,  who,  whether  she  forms  a  flower 
or  a  nation,  never  makes  a  mistake,  had 
drawn  on  the  northern  continent  of  America 
her  own  boundaries.  She  had  put  the  Rocky 
Mountains  to  mark  the  two  great  divisions  of 
East  and  West  America,  But  the  theory  of 
natural  boundaries  appears  never  to  have 
elicited  from  us  much  support,  and  in  the 
instance  now  under  consideration  we  seem  to 
308 


THE  WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

have  gone  not  a  little  out  of  our  way  to  evince 
our  disai^probation  of  Nature's  doings. 

It  was  the  business  of  the  Imperial  Gov- 
ernment a  few  years  ago  to  define  the  bound- 
aries of  the  new  province  to  which  they  were 
giving  a  Constitution. 

The  old  North-West  Fur  Company  had 
rested  satisfied  with  the  Rocky  Mountain 
frontier,  but  in  the  new  document  the  East- 
ern line  was  defined  as  follows:  "And  to 
the  east,  from  the  boundary  of  the  United 
States  northwards  to  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
and  the  one  hundred  and  twentieth  meridian 
of  West  Lonrjitu.de.'"  Unfortunately,  although 
the  one  hundred  and  twentieth  meridian  is 
situated  for  a  portion  of  its  course  in  the 
main  range  of  the  mountains,  it  does  not  lie 
altogether  Avithin  them. 

The  Rocky  Mountains  do  not  run  north 
and  south,  but  trend  considerably  to  the 
west;  and  the  120th  meridian  passes  out  into 
the  prairie  country  of  the  Peace  River.  In 
looking  at  this  strangely  unmeaning  frontier, 
where  nature  had  already  given  such  an  ex- 
cellent "  divide,'''  and  one  which  had  always 
been  adopted  by  the  early  geographer,  it 
seems  only  rational  to  suppose  that  the 
framers  of  the  new  line  lay  under  the  impres- 
sion that  mountain  and  meridian  were  in  one 
and  the  same  line.  Nor  supposing  such  to 
be  the  case,  would  it  be,  by  any  means,  the 
309 


tup:  wild  north  land. 

first  time  tliat  such  an  error  had  been  made 
by  tliose  whose  work  it  was  to  frame  our 
Colonial  destiny. 

Well,  let  us  disregard  this  rectification  of 
boundary,  and  look  at  British  Columbia  as 
Nature  had  made  it. 

When,  some  seventy  years  ago,  the  Fur 
Company  determined  to  push  their  trade  into 
the  most  remote  recesses  of  the  unknown 
territory  lying  before  them,  a  few  advent- 
urers following  this  same  course  which  I 
have  lately  taken,  found  themselves  sud- 
denly in  a  labyrintli  of  mountain.  These 
men  named  the  mountain  land  "New  Cale- 
donia," for  they  had  been  nurtured  in  far 
Highland  homes,  and  the  grim  pine-clad 
steeps  of  this  wild  region,  and  the  blue  lakes 
lying  lapped  amid  the  mountains,  recalled 
the  Lochs  and  Bens  of  boyhood's  hours. 
'Twas  long  before  they  could  make  much  of 
this  new  dominion.  Mountains  rose  on  every 
side ;  white  giants  bald  with  age,  wrapt  in 
cloud,  and  cloaked  with  pines.  Cragged  and 
scarped,  and  towering  above  valleys  filled 
with  boulders,  as  though  in  bygone  ages, 
when  the  old  peaks  had  been  youngsters 
they  had  ])elted  each  other  with  Titanic 
stones;  wliich,  falling  short,  had  filled  the 
deep  ravines  that  lay  between  them. 

])ut  if  the  mountains  in  thei]-  vast  irregu- 
larity (lefiecl  the  early  explorers,  the  rivers 
5510 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

were  even  still  more  perplexing.  Moun- 
tains have  a  right  to  behave  in  an  irregular 
kind  of  way,  but  rivers  are  usually  sup- 
posed to  conduct  themselves  on  more  peace- 
ful principles.  In  New  Caledonia  they  had 
apparently  forgotten  this  rule;  they  played 
all  manner  of  tricks.  They  turned  and  twisted 
behind  the  backs  of  hills,  and  came  out  just 
the  very  way  they  shouldn't  have  come  out. 
They  rose  often  close  to  tlie  sea,  and  then 
ran  directly  away  from  it.  They  pierced 
through  mountain  I'anges  in  caiions  and 
chasms ;  and  the  mountains  threw  down 
stones  at  them,  but  that  only  made  them 
laugh  all  the  louder,  as  they  raced  away  from 
canon  to  caiion.  Sometimes  they  grew 
wicked,  and,  turned  viciously  and  bit,  and 
worried  the  bases  of  the  hills,  and  ate  trees 
and  rocks  and  landslips;  and  then,  over  all 
their  feuds  and  bickerings,  came  Time  at 
last,  as  he  always  does,  and  threw  a  veil 
over  the  conflict ;  a  veil  of  pine-trees. 

But  in  one  respect  both  mountain  and  river 
seemed  in  perfect  accord;  they  would  keep 
the  land  to  themselves  and  their  child,  the 
wild  Indian;  but  the  white  man,  the  child  of 
civilization,  must  be  kept  out.  Nevertheless 
the  white  man  came  in,  and  he  named  the 
rivers  after  his  own  names,  tliough  they 
still  laughed  him  to  scorn,  and  were  useless 
to  his  commerce.  Gradually  this  white  fur- 
yil 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

huntt'i'  s[)re;ul  himself  thvougli  the  land ;  lie 
passed  the  Frazer,  reached  the  Columbia,  and 
gained  its  mouth;  and  here  a  strange  rival 
presented  himself.   "We  must  go  back  a  little. 

Once  upon  a  time  a  Greek  sailor  was  cast 
away  on  the  shore,  where  the  north-most 
Mexican  coast  merged  into  unknown  lands. 

He  remained  for  years  a  wanderer;  but 
when  finally  fate  threw  him  again  upon 
Adriatic  coasts,  he  was  the  narrator  of  strange 
stories,  and  the  projector  of  far  distant  en- 
terprises. 

North  of  California's  shore,  there  was,  he 
said,  a  large  island.  Between  this  island 
and  the  mainland  lay  a  gulf  which  led  to 
those  other  gulfs,  which,  on  the  Atlantic 
verge,  Cartier  and  Hudson  had  made  known 
to  Europe. 

In  these  days  kings  and  viceroys  gladly 
listened  to  a  wanderer's  story.  The  Greek 
was  sent  back  to  the  coasts  he  had  discov- 
ered, commissioned  to  fortify  the  Straits  he 
called  Annian,  against  English  ships  seeking 
through  this  outlet  the  northern  passage  to 
Cathay. 

Over  the  rest  time  has  drawn  a  cloud.  It 
is  said  that  the  Greek  sailor  failed  and  died. 
His  story  became  matter  of  doubt.  More 
than  oOO  years  passed  away ;  Cook  sought 
in  vain  for  the  strait,  and  the  gulf  beyond  it. 
.  Auotlier  English  sailor  Avas  more  fortuu- 
55 13 


THE   WILD   XOKTII    LAND. 

ate ;  and  iu  1756  a  lonely  ship  })as.se(l  be- 
tween the  island  and  the  mainland,  and  the 
long,  doubtful  channel  was  named  "Juan 
de  Fuqa,"  after  the  nickname  of  the  forgot- 
ten Greek. 

To  fortify  the  Straits  of  Annian  was  deemed 
the  dream  of  an  enthusiast ;  yet  by  a  strange 
coincidence,  we  see  to-day  its  realization, 
and  the  Island  of  San  Juan,  our  latest  loss, 
has  now  upon  its  shores  a  hostile  garrison, 
bent  upon  closing  the  Straits  of  Fuca  against 
the  ships  of  England. 

North  of  California,  and  south  of  British 
Columbia,  there  lies  a  vast  region.  Rich  in 
forest,  prairie,  snow-clad  peak,  alluvial  mead- 
ow, hill  pasture,  and  rolling  table-land.  It 
has  all  that  nature  can  give  a  nation ;  its  cli- 
mate is  that  of  England;  its  peaks  are  as 
lofty  as  Mont  Blanc;  its  meadows  as  rich  as 
the  vales  of  Somerset. 

The  Spaniard  knew  it  by  repute,  and 
named  it  Oregon,  after  the  river  which  we 
call  the  Columbia.  Oregon  was  at  that  time 
the  entire  west  of  the  Rocky  JNIountains,  to 
the  north  of  California.  Oregon  had  long 
been  a  mystic  land,  a  realm  of  fable.  Carver 
the  indefatigable,  had  striven  to  reach  the 
great  river  of  the  west,  whose  source  lay  near 
that  of  the  Mississippi.  The  Indians  had 
told  him  that  where  the  IMississippi  had  its 
birth  in  the  shining  mountains,  another  vast 
•dVi 


THE   AVI  LI)   NORTH   LAN'D. 

river  also  rose,  and  flowed  v/est  into  the 
shoreless  sea.  Carver  failed  to  reach  the 
shining  nionntains ;  his  dream  remained  to 
him.  "Probably,"  he  writes,  "in  future 
ages  they  (the  mountains)  may  be  found  to 
contain  more  rielies  in  their  bowels  than 
those  of  Indostan  or  Malabar,  or  that  are 
produced  on  the  golden  Gulf  of  Guinea,  nor 
will  I  except  even  the  Peruvian  mines."  To- 
day that  dream  comes  true,  and  from  the 
caverns  of  the  shining  mountains  men  draw 
forth  more  gold  and  silver  than  all  these 
golden  realms  enumerated  by  the  baffled 
Carver  ever  produced.  But  the  road  which 
Carver  had  pointed  out  was  soon  to  be  fol- 
lowed. 

In  the  first  years  of  the  new  century  men 
penetrated  the  gorges  of  the  shining  moun- 
tain, and  reached  the  great  river  of  the  west; 
but  they  hunted  for  furs,  and  not  for  gold ; 
and  fur-hunters  keep  to  themselves  the  knowl- 
edge of  their  discoveries.  Before  long  the 
great  Republic  born  upon  the  Atlantic  shores 
began  to  stretch  its  infant  arms  towaids  the 
dim  Pacific. 

In  1782,  a  Boston  ship  entered  the  mouth 
of  the  Oregon  liver. 

The  charts  carried  by  the  vessel  sliowed 
no  river  upon  the  coast-line,  and  the  captain 
named  tlie  breaker-tossed  estuary  after  his 
ship    "the  Columbia"     He  thought  he  had 


THE    WILD   NOHTH   LAND. 

discovered  a  new  river;  in  reality,  he  had 
but  found  again  the  ohier  known  Oregon.  It 
is  more  than  probable  that  this  new  named 
river  would  again  have  found  its  ancient  des- 
ignation, had  not  an  enterprising  German  now 
appeared  upon  the  scene.  One  Jacob  Astor, 
a  vendor  of  small  furs  and  hats,  in  New 
York,  turned  his  eyes  to  the  west. 

He  wished  to  plant  upon  the  Pacific  the 
germs  of  American  fur  trade.  The  story  of 
liis  enterprise  has  been  sketched  by  a  cunning 
hand ;  but  under  the  brilliant  colouring  which 
a  great  artist  has  thrown  around  his  tale  of 
Astoria,  the  strong  bias  of  the  partisan  is 
too  plainly  apparent.  Yet  it  is  easy  to  de- 
tect the  imperfect  argument  by  which  Wash- 
ington Irving  endeavours  to  prove  the  right 
of  the  United  States  to  the  disputed  territory 
of  Oregon.  The  question  is  one  of  "Who 
was  first  upon  the  ground?  " 

Irving  claims,  that  Astor,  in  1810,  was 
the  first  trader  who  erected  a  station  on  the 
banks  of  the  Columbia. 

But  in  order  to  form  his  fort,  Astor  had  to 
induce  several  of  the  emploi/efs  of  the  North- 
West  Fur  Company  to  desert  their  service. 
And  Irving  innocently  tells  us,  that  when 
the  overland  expedition  under  Hunt  reached 
the  Columbia,  they  found  the  Indians  well 
supplied  with  European  articles,  which  they 
had   obtaii^ed  from    white    traders   already 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

domiciled  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  He 
records  the  fact  while  he  misses  its  meaning. 
British  fur  traders  had  reached  Oregon  long 
before  Jacob  Astor  had  planted  his  people 
on  the  estuary  of  the  Columbia.  Astor' s 
factory  had  but  a  short  life.  The  war  of 
1813  broke  out.  A  British  ship  appeared  off 
the  bar  of  the  Columbia  River,  and  the 
North- West  Company  moving  down  the  river 
became  the  owners  of  Astoria.  But  with 
their  usual  astuteness  the  Government  of  the 
United  States  claimed,  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  war,  the  possession  of  Oregon,  on  the 
ground  that  it  had  been  theirs  prior  to  the 
struggle.  That  it  had  not  been  so,  is  evident 
to  any  person  who  will  carefully  inquire  into 
the  history  of  the  discovery  of  the  North- 
West  Coast,  and  the  regions  lying  west  of 
the  mountains.  But  no  one  cares  to  ask 
about  such  things,  and  no  one  cared  to  do  so, 
even  when  the  question  was  one  of  greater 
moment  than  it  is  at  present.  So,  with  the 
usual  supineness  which  has  let  drift  from  us 
so  many  fair  realms  won  by  the  toil  and  dar- 
ing of  forgotten  sons,  we  parted  at  last  with 
this  magnificent  region  of  Oregon,  and  signed 
it  over  to  our  voracious  cousins. 

It  was  the  old  story  so  frequently  repeated. 
The  coiintry  was  useless ;  a  pine-forest,  a 
wilderness,  a  hopeless  blank  upou  the  face  of 
nature. 

316 


I 


THE   WILD   NOKTII    LAND. 

To-day,  Oregon  is  to  my  mind  tJic  fniirsf 
State  in  the  Aiiierican  Union. 

There  is  a  story  widely  told  tlirougliout 
British  Columbia,  whicli  ajitly  illustrates  the 
past  policy  of  Great  Britain,  in  relation  to 
her  vast  Wild  Lands. 

Stories  widely  told  are  not  necessarily  true 
ones ;  but  this  story  has  about  it  the  ring  of 
probability. 

It  is  said  that  once  upon  a  time  a  certain 
British  nobleman  anchored  his  ship-of-war  in 
the  deep  waters  of  Puget  Sound.  It  was  at 
a  time  when  discussion  was  ripe  upon  the 
question  of  disputed  ownership  in  Oregon, 
and  this  ship  was  sent  out  for  the  protection 
of  British  interests  on  the  shores  of  the 
North  Pacific.  She  bore  an  ill-fated  name 
for  British  diplomacy.  She  was  called  the 
"  America. " 

The  commander  of  the  "America"  was 
fond  of  salmon  fishing;  the  waters  of  the 
Oregon  were  said  to  be  stocked  with  salmon : 
the  fishing  would  be  excellent.  The  mighty 
"Ekewan,"  monarch  of  salmon,  would  fall  a 
victim  to  flies,  long  famous  on  waters  of 
Tweed  or  Tay.  Alas!  for  the  perverseness 
of  Pacific  salmon.  No  cunningly  twisted 
hackle,  no  deftly  turned  wing  of  mallard, 
summer  duck,  or  jungle  cock,  would  tempt 
the  blue  and  silver  monsters  of  the  Columbia 
or  the  Cowlitz  Rivers.  In  despair,  his  lord- 
317 


THE   WILD   XOKTII   LAND. 

ship  reeled  up  liis  line,  took  to  pieces  his 
rod,  and  wrote  in  disgust  to  his  l)rother  (a 
prominent  statesman  of  the  day)  that  the 
whole  country  was  a  huge  mistake ;  that 
even  the  salmon  in  its  waters  was  a  fish  of  no 
principle,  refusing  to  bite,  to  nibble,  or  to 
rise.  In  line,  that  the  territory  of  Oregon, 
was  not  Avorthy  of  a  second  thought.  So  the 
story  runs.  If  it  be  not  true,  it  has  its  birth 
in  that  too  true  insularity  which  would  be 
sublime,  if  it  did  not  cost  us  something  like 
a  kingdom  every  decade  of  years. 

Such  has  been  the  past  of  Oregon.  It  still 
retains  a  few  associations  of  its  former  own- 
ers. From  its  mass  of  forest,  from  its  long- 
reaching  rivers,  and  above  its  ever  green 
prairies,  immense  spire-shaped  single  peaks 
rise  up  14,000  feet  above  the  Pacific  level. 
Far  over  the  blue  waters  they  greet  the 
sailor's  eye,  while  yet  the  lower  shore  lies 
deep  sunken  beneath  the  ocean  sky-line. 
They  are  literally  the  "  shining  mountains  " 
of  Carver,  and  seamen  say  that  at  night,  far 
out  at  sea,  the  Pacific  waves  glow  brightly 
'neath  the  reflected  lustre  of  their  eternal 
snows. 

These  solitary  peaks  bear  English  titles, 
and  early  fur-hunter,  or  sailor-discoverer, 
have  written  their  now  forgotten  names  in 
snow-white  letters  upon  the  blue  skies  of 
Oregon. 

318 


THE   WILD    NORTH    LAND. 

But  perhaps  one  of  these  days  our  cousins 
will  change  all  that. 

JVIeantime,  1  have  wandered  far  south  I  idiii 
my  lofty  standpoint  on  the  snowy  ridges  of 
the  Bald  mountains  in  Northern  New  Cale- 
donia. 

Descending  with  rapid  strides  the  moun- 
tain trail,  we  heard  a  faint  signal-call  from 
the  valley  before  us.  It  Avas  from  the  party 
sent  on  the  previous  evening,  to  await  our 
arrival  at  the  spot  where  Rufus  had  left  his 
worn-out  horses  a  week  before.  A  few  miles 
more  brought  us  within  sight  of  the  blue 
smoke  which  promised  breakfast — a  welcome 
prospect  after  six  hours  forced  marching 
over  the  steep  ridges  of  the  Bald  Mountains. 

Two  Indians,  two  miners,  two  thin  horses, 
and  one  fat  dog  now  formed  the  cam})  before 
the  fire,  at  which  we  rested  with  feelings  of 
keen  delight.  Tom,  the  "carrier"  Indian, 
and  Kalder,  my  trusty  henchman,  had  break- 
fast veady;  and  beans  and  bacon,  to  say 
nothing  of  jam  and  white  bread,  were  still 
sufficient  novelties  to  a  winter  traveller,  long 
nourished  upon  the  sole  luxury  of  moose  pem- 
mican,  to  make  eighteen  miles  of  mountain 
exercise  a  needless  prelude  to  a  hearty  break- 
fast. The  meal  over  we  made  preparations 
for  our  march  to  the  south.  In  round  num- 
bers I  was  300  miles  from  Quesnelle.  Moun- 
tain, forest,  swamp,  river,  and  lake,  lay  be- 
319 


THE  WILT)   NORTH   LAND. 

tween  me  and  that  valley  where  the  first 
vestige  of  civilized  travel  would  greet  me  on 
the  rapid  waters  of  the  Frazer  Kiver. 

Through  all  tliis  land  of  wilderness  a  nar- 
row trail  held  its  way ;  now,  luider  the  shad- 
ow of  lofty  pine  forest;  now,  skirting  the 
shores  of  lonely  lakes;  now,  climbing  the 
mountain  ranges  of  the  Nation  River,  where 
yet  the  snow  lay  deep  amid  those  valleys 
whose  waters  seek  upon  one  side  the  Pacific, 
upon  the  other  the  Arctic  Ocean.  Between 
me  and  the  frontier  "  city  "  of  Quesnelle  lay 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Fort  of  St.  James,  on  the 
south-east  shore  of  the  lake  called  Stuart's. 
Here  my  companion  Rufus  counted  upon 
obtaining  fresh  horses ;  but  until  Ave  could 
reach  this  half-way  house,  our  own  good  legs 
must  carry  us,  for  the  steeds  now  gathered 
into  the  camp  Avere  as  poor  and  weak  as  the 
fast  travel  and  long  fasting  of  the  previous 
journey  could  make  them.  They  were  liter- 
ally but  skin  and  bone,  and  it  was  still  a 
matter  of  doubt  whether  they  would  be  able 
to  carry  our  small  stock  of  food  and  blank- 
ets, in  addition  to  their  own  bodies,  over  the 
long  trail  before  us. 

Packing  our  goods  upon  the  backs  of  the 
skeleton  steeds,  we  set  out  for  the  south. 
Before  proceeding  far  a  third  horse  was  cap- 
tured. He  proved  to  be  in  better  condition 
than  his  comrades.  A  saddle  was  therefore 
320 


THE  WILT)  Noirrir  f^and. 

I)la{'e(l  on  liis  buck,  and  lie  was  liandcd  (i\x'r 
to  me  liy  Rufus  in  onk-r  that  we  sliould 
"  ride  and  tie  "  during  tlie  remainder  of  tlie 
day.  In  tlieory  this  arrangement  was  admir- 
able ;  in  practice  it  was  painfully  defective. 
The  horse  seemed  to  enter  fully  into  the 
"tying"  part  of  it,  but  the  "riding"  was  al- 
together another  matter.  I  think  nothing 
but  the  direst  starvation  would  have  indticed 
that  "  cayoose  "  to  deviate  in  any  way  from 
his  part  of  the  tying.  No  amount  of  stick 
or  whip  or  spur  would  make  him  a  party  to 
the  riding.  At  last  he  rolled  heavily  against 
a  prostrate  tree,  bruising  me  not  a  little  by 
the  performance.  He  appeared  to  have  se- 
rious ideas  of  fancying  himself  "  tied  "  when 
in  this  reclining  position,  and  it  was  no  easy 
matter  to  disentangle  oneself  from  his  ruins. 
After  this  I  dissolved  partnership  with  Ru- 
fus, and  found  that  walking  was  a  much  less 
fatiguing,  and  less  hazardous  performance, 
if  a  little  less  exciting. 

We  held  our  way  through  a  wild  land  of 
hill  and  vale  and  swamp  for  some  fifteen  or 
sixteen  miles,  and  camped  on  the  edge  of  a 
little  meadow,  where  the  old  grass  of  the 
previous  year  promised  the  tired  horses  a 
scanty  meal.  It  was  but  a  poor  pasturage, 
and  next  morning  one  horse  proved  so  weak 
that  we  left  him  to  his  fate,  and  held  on  with 
two  horses  towards  the  Nation  River.  Be- 
21  .321 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

tween  us  aud  this  Nation  River  lay  a  steen 
inountain,  still  deep  in  snow.  We  began 
its  ascent  while  the  morning  was  yet 
young. 

Since  daylight  it  had  snowed  incessantly; 
and  in  a  dense  driving  snow-storm  we  made 
the  passage  of  the  mountain. 

The  winter's  snow  lay  four  feet  deep 
upon  the  trail,  and  our  horses  sunk  to  their 
girths  at  every  step.  Slowly  we  plodded  on, 
each  horse  stepping  in  the  old  footprints  of 
the  last  journey,  and  pausing  often  to  take 
breath  in  the  toilsome  ascent.  At  length  the 
summit  was  reached ;  but  a  thick  cloud  hung 
over  peak  and  vallej'.  Then  the  trail  wound 
slowly  downwards,  and  by  noon  we  reached 
the  shore  of  a  dim  lake,  across  whose  bosom 
the  snow-storm  swept  as  though  the  time 
had  been  mid-November  instead  of  the  end  of 
May. 

We  passed  the  outlet  of  the  Nation  Lake 
(a  sheet  of  water  some  thirty-five  miles  in 
length,  lying  nearly  east  and  west),  and  held 
our  way  for  some  miles  along  its  southern 
shore.  In  the  evening  we  had  reached  a 
green  meadow,  on  the  banks  of  a  swollen 
stream . 

While  Rufus  and  I  were  taking  the  packs 
off  the  tired  horses,  preparatory  to  making 
them  swim  the  stream ;  a  huge  grizzly  bear 
came  out  upon  the  opposite  bank  and  looked 

QOO 


THE   WILD   NORTH  LAND. 

at  us  for  a  iiioiuent.  Tlie  Iiidiaiis  wlio  were 
behind  saw  him  approach  us,  but  tliey  were 
too  far  from  us  to  make  their  voices  audible, 
A.  tree  crossed  the  stream,  and  the  opposite 
bank  rose  steeply  from  t1  '  water  to  the  level 
meadow  above.  Bruin  Avas  not  twenty  paces 
from  us,  but  the  bank  hid  him  from  our 
view ;  and  when  I  became  aware  of  his  prox- 
imity he  had  already  made  up  his  mind  to 
retire.  Grizzlies  are  seldom  met  under  such 
favourable  circumstances.  A  high  bank  in 
front,  a  level  meadow  beyond,  I  long  re- 
gretted the  chance,  lost  so  unwittingly,  and 
our  cheerless  bivouac  that  night  in  the  driv- 
ing sleet  would  have  been  but  little  heeded, 
had  my  now  rusty  double-barrel  spoken  its 
mind  to  our  shaggy  visitor.  But  one  cannot 
always  be  in  luck. 

All  night  long  it  rained  and  sleeted  and 
snowed,  and  daylight  broke  upon  a  white 
landscape.  We  got  away  from  camp  at  four 
o'clock,  and  held  on  with  rapid  pace  until 
ten.  By  this  hour  we  had  reached  the 
summit  of  the  table-land  "  divide  "  between 
the  Arctic  and  Pacific  Oceans.  It  is  almost 
imperceptible,  its  only  indication  being  the 
flow  of  water  south,  instead  of  north-east. 
The  day  had  cleared,  but  a  violent  storm 
swept  the  forest,  crashing  many  a  tall  tree 
prostrate  to  the  earth ;  and  when  we  camped 
for  dinner,  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  select  a 
323 


THE   MaLD  NOKTir  LAND. 

spot  safe  from  the  dangers  of  falling  jtine- 
trees. 

As  I  quitted  this  Arctic  watershed,  and 
stood  on  the  height  of  land  between  the  two 
oceans,  memory  could  not  help  running  back, 
over  the  many  scenes  which  had  i)assed,  since 
on  that  evening  after  leaving  the  Long  Port- 
age, I  had  first  entered  the  river  systems  of 
the  North. 

Full  1300  miles  away  lay  the  camping- 
place  of  that  evening;  and  as  the  many  long 
hours  of  varied  travel  rose  up  again  before 
me,  snow-swept,  toil-laden,  full  at  times  of 
wreck  and  peril  and  disaster;  it  was  not 
without  reason  that,  turning  away  from  the 
cold  northern  landscape,  I  saluted  with  joy 
the  blue  pine-tops,  through  which  rolled  the 
broad  rivers  of  the  Pacific, 


324 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

The  Look-out  Mountain— A  Gigantic  Tree — Tlie  Un 
tiring  Retires  Before  Superior  Numbers— Fort 
St.  James — A  Strange  Sight  in  the  Forest— Lake 
Noola — Quesneiie — Cerf-vola  in  Civilized  Life — 
Old  Dog,  Good-bye! 

We  inarched  that  day  over  thirty  miles, 
and  halted  in  a  valley  of  cotton-wood  trees, 
amid  green  leaves  again.  "We  were  yet 
distant  about  forty-five  miles  from  the  Fort 
St.  James,  but  my  friend  Rufus  declared 
that  a  rapid  march  on  the  morrow  would 
take  us  to  the  half-way  house  by  sun-down. 
Rapid  marches  had  long  since  become  famil- 
iar, and  one  more  or  less  did  not  matter  much. 

Daybreak  found  us  in  motion;  it  Avas  a 
fast  walk,  it  was  a  faster  walk,  it  was  a  run, 
and  ere  the  mid-day  sun  hung  over  the  rich 
undulating  forest-land,  we  were  thirty  miles 
from  our  camp  in  the  cotton-wood.  Before 
noon,  a  lofty  ridge  rose  before  us;  the  trail 
wound  up  its  long  ascent.  Rufus  called  it 
"the  Look-out  Mountain."  The  top  was 
bare  of  forest,  the  day  was  bright  witli  sun- 
shine ;  not  a  cloud  lay  over  the  vast  plateau 
of  Middle  New  Caledonia. 
325 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

Five  hundred  snowy  peaks  rose  up  along 
the  horizon :  the  Nation  Lake  Mountains,  the 
further  ranges  of  the  Ominica,  the  ridges 
which  lie  between  the  many  tributaries  of  the 
Peace  and  the  countless  lakes  of  the  North 
Frazer.  Babine,  Tatla,  Pinkley,  Stuart's, 
and  far  off  to  the  Avest  the  old  monarchs  of 
the  Rocky  Mountians  rose  up  to  look  a  last 
farewell  to  the  Avanderer,  Avho  noAV  carried 
away  to  distant  lands  a  hundred  memories 
of  their  lonely  beauty.  On  the  south  slope 
of  the  Look-out  Mountain,  a  gigantic  pine- 
tree  first  attracts  the  traveller's  eye;  its 
seamed  trunk  is  dusky  red,  its  dark  and  som- 
bre head  is  lifted  high  above  all  other  trees, 
and  the  music  which  the  winds  make  through 
its  branches  seems  to  come  from  a  great  dis- 
tance. It  is  the  Douglas  Pine  of  the  Pacific 
coast,  the  monarch  of  Columbian  forests,  a 
tree  which  Turner  must  have  seen  in  his 
dreams. 

A  few  miles  south  of  the  mountain,  the 
country  opened  out  into  pleasant  prairies 
fringed  with  groves  of  cotton-wood;  the 
grass  was  growing  thick  and  green,  the  mead- 
ows were  bright  with  flowers.  Three  fat 
horses  were  feeding  upon  one  of  these  mead- 
ows; they  were  the  property  of  Rufus.  We 
caught  them  with  some  little  difficulty,  and 
turned  our  two  poor  thin  animals  adrift  in 
peace  and  plenty ;  then  mounting  the  fresh 
32G 


THE  WILD   NOirni   LAND. 

steeds,  Rufus  and  I  hurried  on  to  Fort  8t. 
James. 

The  saddle  was  a  pleasant  change  after 
the  hard  marching  of  the  last  few  days. 
Mud  and  dust  and  stones,  alternating  with 
the  snow  of  the  mountains,  had  told  heavily 
against  our  moccasined  feet;  but  tlie  worst 
was  noAV  over,  and  henceforth  we  would  liave 
horses  to  Quesnelle. 

It  was  yet  some  time  before  sun-down 
when  we  cantered  down  the  sloping  trail 
which  leads  to  the  Fort  St.  James.  Of 
course  the  Untiring  was  at  his  usual  post — 
well  to  the  front.  Be  it  dog-train,  or  march 
on  foot,  or  march  with  horses,  the  Untiring 
led  the  van,  his  tail  like  the  plume  of  Henry 
of  Navarre  at  Ivry,  ever  waving  his  followers 
to  renewed  exertions.  It  would  be  no  easy 
matter  for  me  to  enumerate  all  the  Hudson's 
Bay  forts  which  the  Untiring  had  entered  at 
the  head  of  his  train.  Long  and  varied  ex- 
perience had  made  him  familiar  with  every 
description  of  post,  from  the  imposing  array 
of  wooden  buildings  which  marked  the  resi- 
dence of  a  chief  factor,  down  to  the  little 
isolated  hut  wherein  some  half-breed  servant 
carries  on  his  winter  traffic  on  the  shore  of 
a  nameless  lake. 

Cerf-vola  knew  them  all.  Freed  from  his 
harness  in  the  square  of  a  fort — an  event 
which  he  usually  accelerated  by  dragging  his 
337 


THE  WILD   XORTH  LAND. 

sled  and  three  other  dogs  to  the  doorway  of 
the  principal  house — he  at  once  made  him- 
self master  of  the  situation,  paying  particu- 
lar attention  to  two  objective  points.  First, 
the  intimidation  of  resident  dogs ;  second, 
the  topography  of  the  provision  store.  Ten 
minutes  after  liis  entry  into  a  previously  un- 
explored fort,  he  knew  to  a  nicety  where  the 
white  fish  were  kept,  and  where  the  dry 
meat  and  pemmican  lay.  But  on  this  occa- 
sion at  Fort  St.  James  a  woful  disaster 
awaited  him. 

With  the  memory  of  many  triumphal  en- 
tries full  upon  him,  he  now  led  the  way  into 
the  square  of  the  fort,  totally  forgetting  that 
he  was  no  longer  a  hauling-dog,  but  a  free 
lance  or  a  rover  on  his  own  account.  In  an 
instant  four  huge  haulers  espied  him,  and, 
charging  from  every  side  ere  I  could  force  in 
upon  the  conflict  to  balance  sides  a  little, 
they  completely  prostrated  the  hitherto  in- 
vincible Esquimau,  and  at  his  last  Hudson 
Bay  post,  near  the  close  of  his  2500  mile 
march,  he  experienced  his  first  defeat.  We 
rescued  him  from  his  enemies  before  he 
had  suffered  much  bodily  hurt,  but  he  looked 
considerably  tail-fallen  at  this  unlooked-fcr 
reception,  and  passed  the  remainder  of  the 
day  in  strict  seclusion  underneath  my  bed. 

Stuart's  Lake  is  a  very  beautiful  sheet  of 
water.  Tall  mountains  rise  along  its  Avestern 
338 


THE  WILD   NOTH  LAND. 

and  northern  shores,  and  forest  promontories 
stretch  far  into  its  deep  bhie  watei'S.  It  is 
the  favourite  home  of  the  salmon,  when  late 
in  summer  he  has  worked  his  long,  toilsome 
way  up  the  innumerable  rapids  of  the  Frazer, 
500  miles  from  the  Pacific. 

Colossal  sturgeon  are  also  found  in  its 
waters,  sometimes  weighing  as  much  as  800 
pounds.  AVith  the  exception  of  rabbits, 
game  is  scarce  along  the  shores,  but  at  cer- 
tain times  rabbits  are  found  in  incredible 
numbers ;  the  Indian  women  snare  them  by 
sacksful,  and  every  one  lives  on  rabbit,  for 
when  rabbits  are  numerous,  salmon  are 
scarce. 

The  daily  rations  of  a  man  in  the  wide 
domain  of  the  Ihidson's  Bay  Company  are 
singularly  varied. 

On  the  south  shores  of  Hudson's  Bay  a 
voijiujeur  receives  every  day  one  wild  goose ; 
in  the  Sasaktchewan  he  gets  ten  pounds  of 
buffalo-meat;  in  Athabasca  eight  pounds  of 
moose-meat;  in  English  River  three  large 
white  fish ;  hi  the  North,  half  fish  and  rein- 
deer; and  here  in  New  Caledonia  he  receives 
for  his  day's  food  eight  rabbits  or  one  sal- 
mon. Start  not,  reader,  at  the  last  item! 
The  salmon  is  a  dried  one,  and  does  not 
weigh  more  than  a  pound  and  a  half  in  its 
reduced  form. 

After  a  day's  delay  at  Fort  St.  James,  we 
<J39 


THE   WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

started  again  on  our  southern  road.  A  canoe 
carried  us  to  a  point  some  five  and  twenty 
miles  lower  down  the  Stuart's  River — a  rapid 
stream  of  considerable  size,  which  bears  the 
out-flow  of  the  lake  and  of  the  long  line  of 
lakes  lying  north  of  Stuart's,  into  the  main 
Frazer  River. 

I  here  said  good-bye  to  K alder,  who  was 
to  return  to  Peace  River  on  the  following 
day.  A  whisky  saloon  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  fort  had  proved  too  much  for  this  hot- 
tempered  half-breed,  and  he  was  in  a  state  of 
hilarious  grief  when  we  parted.  "  He  liad 
been  very  hasty,"  he  said,  "would  lex- 
squeeze  him,  as  he  was  sorry ;  he  would  al- 
Avays  go  with  this  master  again  if  he  ever 
came  back  to  Peace  River ; "  and  then  the 
dog  caught  his  eye,  and  overpowered  by  his 
feelings  he  vanished  into  the  saloon. 

Guided  by  an  old  carrier  Indian  chief,  the 
canoe  swept  out  of  the  beautiful  lake  and  ran 
swiftly  down  the  Stuart's  River.  By  sun- 
down we  had  reached  the  spot  where  the  trail 
crosses  the  stream,  and  here  we  camped  for 
the  night ;  our  horses  had  arrived  before  us 
under  convoy  of  Tom  the  Indian. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  31st  of 
May,  we  le ached  the  banks  of  the  Nacharcole 
River,  a  large  stream  flowing  from  the  Avest; 
open  prairies  of  rich  land  fringed  the  banks 
of  this  river,  and  far  as  the  eye  could  reach 
330 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

to  the  west  no  mountain  ridge  barred  the 
way  to  tlie  Western  Ocean. 

This  river  has  its  source  within  twenty 
miles  of  the  Pacific,  and  is  without  doubt  the 
true  line  to  the  sea  for  a  northern  railroad, 
whenever  Canada  shall  earnestly  take  in  hand 
the  work  of  riveting  together  the  now  Avidely 
severed  jjortions  of  her  vast  dominion  ;  but  to 
this  subject  I  hope  to  have  time  to  devote  a 
special  chapter  in  the  Appendix  to  this  book, 
now  my  long  journey  is  drawing  to  a  close, 
and  these  latter  pages  of  its  story  are  written 
amid  stormy  waves,  where  a  southward-steer- 
ing ship  reels  on  beneath  the  shadow  of 
Maderia's  mountains. 

Crossing  the  wide  Nacharcole  River,  and 
continuing  south  for  a  few  miles,  we  reached 
a  broadly  cut  trail  which  bore  curious  traces 
of  past  civilization.  Old  telegraph  poles 
stood  at  intervals  along  the  forest-cleared 
opening,  and  rusted  wire  hung  in  loose  fes- 
toons down  from  their  tops,  or  lay  tangled 
amid  the  growing  brushwood  of  the  cleared 
space.  A  telegraph  in  the  wilderness !  What 
did  it  mean? 

When  civilization  once  grasps  the  wild, 
lone  spaces  of  the  earth  it  seldom  releases  its 
hold ;  yet  here  civilization  had  once  advanced 
her  footsteps,  and  apparently  shrunk  back 
again  frightened  at  her  boldness.  It  was 
even  so ;  this  trail,  with  its  ruined  wire,  told 
331 


THE   WILD  XORTH   LAND. 

of  the  wreck  of  a  great  enterprise.  While 
yet  the  Atlantic  cable  Avas  an  nnsettled  ques- 
tion, a  bold  idea  sprung  to  life  in  the  brain 
of  an  American.  It  was  to  connect  the  Old 
World  and  the  New,  by  a  wire  stretched 
through  the  vast  forests  of  British  Columbia 
and  Alaska,  to  the  Straits  of  Behring; 
thence  across  the  Tundras  of  Kamtschatka, 
and  around  the  shores  of  Okhotsk  the  wires 
would  run  to  the  Amoor  River,  to  meet  a 
line  which  the  Russian  Government  would 
lay  from  Moscow  to  the  Pacific. 

It  was  a  grand  scheme,  but  it  lacked  the 
elements  of  success,  because  of  ill-judged 
route  and  faulty  execution.  The  great  Tele- 
graph Company  of  the  United  States  entered 
warmly  into  the  plan.  Exploring  parties 
were  sent  out ;  one  pierced  these  silent  for- 
ests; another  surveyed  the  long  line  of  the 
Yukon ;  another  followed  the  wintry  shores 
of  the  Sea  of  Okhotsk,  and  passed  the  Tun- 
dras of  the  black  Gulf  of  Anadir. 

Four  millions  of  dollars  were  spent  in  these 
expeditions.  Suddenly  news  came  that  the 
Atlantic  cable  was  an  accomplished  fact. 
Brunei  had  died  of  a  broken  heart ;  but  the 
New  World  and  the  Old  had  welded  their 
thoughts  together,  with  the  same  blow  that 
broke  his  heart. 

Europe  spoke  to  America  beneath  the 
ocean,  and  the  voice  which  men  had  sought 
333 


THE   WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

to  waft  through  the  vast  forests  of  the  Wild 
North  Laiul,  and  over  tlie  Tundras  of  Siberia, 
died  away  in  utter  desolation. 

So  the  great  enterprise  was  abandoned,  and 
to-day  from  the  lonely  shores  of  Lake  Babine 
to  the  bend  of  the  Frazer  at  Quesnelle,  the 
ruined  wire  hangs  loosel}^  through  the  forest. 

During  the  first  two  days  of  June  we  jour- 
neyed through  a  wild,  undulating  country, 
filled  with  lakes  and  rolling  hills;  grassy 
openings  were  numerous,  and  many  small 
streams  stocked  with  fish  intersected  the  land. 

The  lakes  of  this  northern  plateau  are 
singularly  beautiful.  Many  isles  lie  upon 
their  surface ;  from  tiny  promontories  the 
huge  Douglas  pine  lifts  his  motionless  head. 
The  great  northern  diver,  the  loon,  dips  his 
white  breast  in  the  blue  wavelets,  and  sounds 
his  melancholy  cry  through  the  solitude.  I 
do  not  think  that  I  have  ever  listened  to  a 
sound  which  conveys  a  sense  of  indescribable 
loneliness  so  completely  as  this  wail,  which 
the  loon  sends  at  night  over  the  forest  shores. 
The  man  who  wrote 

"  And  on  the  mere  the  wailing  died  away" 

must  have  heard  it  in  his  dreams. 

We  passed  the  noisy  Indian  village  of  Lake 
Noola  and  the   silent  Indian   graves  on  the 
grassy  shore  of  Lake  Noolkai,  and  the  even- 
ing of  the  2nd  of  June  found  us  camped  in 
333 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

the  green  meadows  of  the  West  Eoad  River, 
up  which  a  white  man  hrst  penetrated  to  the 
Pacific  Ocean  just  eighty  years  ago. 

A  stray  Indian  came  along  with  news  of 
disaster.  A  canoe  had  upset  near  the  cotton- 
wood  canon  of  the  Frazer,  and  the  Hudson's 
Bay  officer  at  Fort  George  had  gone  down  be- 
neath a  pile  of  drift-wood,  in  the  whirlpools 
of  the  treacherous  river.  The  Indian  had 
been  with  him,  but  he  had  reached  the  shore 
with  difficulty,  and  was  now  making  his  way 
to  Fort  St.  James,  carrying  news  of  the 
catastrophe. 

Forty  more  miles  brought  us  to  the  summit 
of  a  ridge,  from  which  a  large  river  was  seen 
flowing  in  the  centre  of  a  deep  valley  far  into 
the  south.  Beyond,  on  the  further  shore, 
a  few  scattered  wooden  houses  stood  grouped 
upon  a  level  bank ;  the  wild  rose-trees  were 
in  blossom;  it  was  summer  in  the  forest, 
and  the  evening  air  was  fragrant  with  the 
scent  of  flowers. 

I  drew  rein  a  moment  on  the  ridge,  and 
looked  wistfully  back  along  the  forest  trail. 

Before  me  spread  civilization  and  the  waters 
of  the  Pacific ;  behind  me,  vague  and  vast,  lay 
a  hundred  memories  of  the  Wild  North  Land. 

For  many  reasons  it  is  fitting  to  end  this 
story  here.     Between  the  ridge  on  the  west 
shore    of    the    Frazer    and  those   scattered 
334 


TlfE  "WILD  NOKTII  LAXT>. 

wooden  liouses  on  the  east,  lies  a  gulf  wider 
than  a  score  of  valleys.  On  one  side  man — 
on  the  other  the  wilderness ;  on  one  side  noise 
of  steam  and  hammer — on  the  other  voice  of 
wild  things  and  the  silence  of  the  solitude. 

It  is  still  many  hundred  miles  ere  I  can 
hope  to  reach  anything  save  a  border  civiliza- 
tion. The  road  which  runs  from  Quesnelle 
to  Victoria  is  400  miles  in  length.  Washing- 
ton territory,  Oregon,  and  California  have 
yet  to  be  traversed  ere,  1500  miles  from 
here,  the  golden  gate  of  San  Francisco  opens 
on  the  sunset  of  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

Many  scenes  of  beauty  lie  in  that  long 
track  hidden  in  the  bosom  of  the  Sierras. 
The  Cascades  Eanier,  Hood,  and  Shasta  will 
throw  their  shadows  across  my  path  as  the 
Untiring  dog  and  his  now  tired  master,  wan- 
der south  towards  the  grim  Yosemite;  but  to 
link  these  things  into  the  story  of  a  winter 
journey  across  the  yet  untamed  wilds  of  the 
Great  North  would  be  an  impossible  task. 

One  evening  I  stood  in  a  muddy  street  of 
New  York.  A  crowd  had  gathered  before 
the  door  of  one  of  those  immense  buildings 
which  our  cousins  rear  along  their  city  thor- 
oughfares and  call  hotels.  The  door  opened 
and  half  a  dozen  dusky  men  came  forth. 

"  Who  are  they?  "  I  asked. 

"They  are  the  Sioux  chiefs  from  the  Yel- 
low^stone,"  answered  a  bystander;  "they're  a 
335 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

taking  them  to  the  tlie-a-ter,  to  see  Lester 
Walliek." 

Out  on  tlie  Great  Prairie  I  liad  often  seen 
the  red  man  in  his  boundless  home ;  savage 
if  you  will,  but  still  a  power  in  the  land,  and 
fitting  in  every  way  the  wilds  in  which  he 
dwells.  The  names  of  Eed  Cloud  and  his 
brother  chiefs  from  the  Yellowstone  were 
household  words  to  me.  It  was  this  same 
Red  Cloud  who  led  liis  500  whooping  war- 
riors on  Fetterman's  troops,  when  not  one 
soldier  escaped  to  tell  the  story  of  the  fight 
in  the  foot-hills  of  the  Wyoming  Mountains; 
and  here  was  Red  Cloud  now  in  semi-civil- 
ized dress,  but  still  a  giant  'midst  the  puny 
rabble  that  thronged  to  see  him  come  forth ; 
with  the  gaslight  falling  on  his  dusky  feat- 
ures and  his  eyes  staring  in  beAvildered  va- 
cancy at  the  crowd  around  him.  Captain 
Jack  was  right :  better,  poor  hunted  savage, 
thy  grave  in  the  lava-beds,  than  this  bur- 
lesque union  of  street  and  wilderness!  But 
there  was  one  denizen  of  the  wilds  who  fol- 
lowed my  footsteps  into  southern  lands,  and 
of  him  the  reader  might  ask,  "  What  more?  " 

Well,  the  Untiring  took  readily  to  civiliza- 
tion ;  he  looked  at  Shasta,  he  sailed  on  the 
Columbia  River,  he  climbed  the  dizzy  ledges 
of  the  Yosemite,  he  gazed  at  the  Golden 
Gate,  and  saw  the  sun  sink  beyond  the  blue 
waves  of  the  great  Salt  Lake,  but  none  of 
336 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

these  scenes  seemed  to  affect  liiin  in  the 
slightest  degree. 

He  journeyed  in  the  boot  or  on  the  roof  of 
a  stage-coach  for  more  than  800  miles ;  he 
was  weighed  once  as  extra  baggage,  and 
classified  and  charged  as  such;  he  conducted 
himself  with  all  possible  decorum  in  the  rooms 
and  corridors  of  the  grand  hotel  at  San  Fran- 
cisco ;  he  crossed  the  continent  in  a  railway- 
carriage  to  Montreal  and  Boston,  as  though 
he  had  been  a  first-class  passenger  since  child- 
hood; he  thought  no  more  of  the  reception- 
room  of  Brigliam  Young  in  Utah,  than  had 
he  been  standing  on  a  snow-drift  in  Athabasca 
Lake ;  he  was  duly  photographed  and  petted 
and  pampered,  but  he  took  it  all  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

There  were,  however,  two  facts  in  civiliza- 
tion which  caused  him  unutterable  astonish- 
ment— a  brass  band,  and  a  butcher's  stall. 
He  fled  from  the  one ;  he  howled  with  delight 
before  the  other. 

I  frequently  endeavoured  to  find  out  the 
cause  of  his  aversion  to  music.  Although  he 
was  popularly  supposed  to  belong  to  the 
species  of  savage  beast,  music  had  anything 
but  a  soothing  effect  upon  him.  Whenever 
he  heard  a  band,  he  fled  to  my  hotel ;  and 
once,  when  they  were  burying  a  renowned 
general  of  volunteers  in  San  Francisco  with 
full  military  honours,  he  caused  no  small 
23  337 


THE  "WILD   XORTIT   LAXD. 

confusion  amidst  tlie  mournful  cortege  by 
charging  full  tilt  through  the  entire  crowd. 

But  the  l)utclier's  stall  was  something  to 
be  long  remend)ered.  Six  or  eight  sheep, 
and  half  as  many  fat  oxen  hung  up  by  the 
heels,  apparently  all  for  his  benefit,  was 
something  that  no  dog  could  understand. 
Planting  himself  full  before  it,  he  howled 
hilariously  for  some  moments,  and  when  with 
difficulty  I  succeeded  in  conducting  him  to 
the  seclusion  of  my  room,  he  took  advantage 
of  my  absence  to  remove  with  the  aid  of  his 
teeth  the  obnoxious  door-panel  which  inter- 
vened between  him  and  this  paradise  of  mut- 
ton. 

On  the  Atlantic  shore  I  bid  my  old  friend 
a  long  good-b3'e.  It  was  night;  and  as  the 
ship  sailed  away  from  the  land,  and  I  found 
myself  separated  for  the  first  time  during  so 
many  long  months  from  the  friend  and  ser- 
vant and  partner  who 

Thro'  every  swift  vicissitude 

Of  changeful  time,  unchanged  had  stood, 

I  strung  together  these  few  rhymes,  which 
were  not  the  less  true  because  they  were 
only 

MORE  DOGGEREL. 

Old  dog,  good-bye,  the  parting  time  has  come, 
Here  on  the  verge  of  wiUl  Atlantic  foam; 

He  who  would  follow,  when  fast  beats  the  drum. 
Must  have  no  place  of  rest,  no  dog,  no  home. 
338 


THE   WILD   NOl^.TTT   LAND. 

And  yot  I  raniiot  loave  tlice  even  lioro, 

Where  toil  inul  eold  in  peace  and  rest  sliall  end, 

Poor  iait.liful  partner  of  a  wild  career, 

Through  icy  leagues  my  sole  unceasing  friend, 

Without  one  word  to  mark  our  long  good-bj'c, 
Without  a  line  to  jiaint  that  wintry  dream. 

When  day  by  day,  old  Husky,  thou,  and  I, 
Toiletl  o'er  the  great  Unchagah's  frozen  stream. 

For  now,  wlien  it  is  time  to  go,  strange  sights 
Rise  from  the  ocean  of  the  vanish 'd  year, 

And  wail  of  pines,  and  sheen  of  northern  lights, 
Flash  o'er  the  sight  and  float  on  mem'rj''s  ear. 

We  cross  again  the  lone,  dim  shrouded  lake. 
Where  stunted  cedars  bend  before  the  blast; 

Again  the  camp  is  made  amidst  the  brake. 
The  pine-log's  light  upon  thy  face  is  cast. 

We  talk  together,  yes — we  often  spent 

An  hour  in  converse,  while  my  bit  thou  shared. 

One  eye,  a  friendly  one,  on  me  was  bent ; 
The  other,  on  some  comrade  fiercely  glared. 

Deep  slept  the  night,  the  owl  had  ceased  his  cry, 
Unbroken  stillness  o'er  the  earth  was  shed; 

And  crouch  'd  beside  me  thou  wert  sure  to  lie, 
Thy  rest  a  watching,  snow  thy  only  bed. 

The  miles  went  on,  the  tens  'neath  twenties  lay ; 

The  scores  to  hundreds  slowly,  slowly,  roll'd; 
And  ere  the  winter  wore  itself  away, 

The  hundreds  turn'd  to  thousands  doubly  told. 

But  still  thou  wert  the  leader  of  the  band. 
And  still  thy  step  went  on  thro'  toil  and  pain; 

Until  like  giants  in  the  Wild  North  Land, 
A  thousand  glittering  peaks  frown'd  o'er  the  plain. 
339 


THE  WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

And  yet  we  did  not  part;  beside  me  still 
AVas  seen  thy  bushy  tail,  thy  well-known  face ; 

Through  caSon  dark,  and  by  the  snow-clad  hill, 
Thou  kept  unchanged  thy  old  familiar  pace. 

Why  tell  it  all?  through  fifty  scenes  we  went, 
Where  Shasta's  peak  its  lonely  shadows  ca.st; 

Till  now  for  Afric's  shore  my  steps  arc  bent, 
And  thou  and  I,  old  friend,  must  part  at  last. 

Thou  wilt  not  miss  me,  home  and  care  aie  thine. 
And  peace  and  rest  will  lull  thee  to  the  end ; 

But  still,  perchance  with  low  and  wistful  whine, 
Thou'lt  sometimes  scan   the   landscape   for  thy 
friend. 

Or  when  the  drowsy  summer  noon  is  nigh. 
Or  wintry  moon  upon  the  white  snow  shines, 

From  dreamy  sleep  will  rise  a  muffled  cry. 

For  him  who  led  thee  through  the  land  of  pines. 


340 


APPENDIX. 


Nearly  twenty  years  ago  we  began  to  talk 
of  building  a  railroad  across  the  continent  of 
North  America  to  lie  wholly  within  British 
territory,  and  we  are  still  talking  about  it. 

Meantime  our  cousins  have  built  their  in- 
ter-oceanic road,  and  have  opened  it  and 
run  apon  it  for  six  years :  they  are  also  talk- 
ing much  about  their  work.  But  of  such 
things  it  is,  perhaps,  better  to  speak  after  the 
work  has  been  accomplished  than  before  it  has 
been  begun. 

The  line  which  thus  connects  "the  Pacific 
and  Atlantic  Oceans  bears  the  name  of  the 
Union  Pacific  Railroad.  It  crosses  the  con- 
tinent nearly  through  the  centre  of  the  United 
States,  following,  witli  slight  deviation,  the 
42nd  parallel  of  latitude.  Two  other  lines 
have  been  projected  south  and  one  north  of 
this  Union  Pacific  road,  all  lying  within  the 
United  States;  but  all  have  come  to  untimely 
ends,  stopping  midway  in  their  careers  across 
the  sandy  plains  of  the  "West. 

Tliere  was  the  Southern  Pacific  Railroad  to 
follow  the  30th  parallel ;  there  was  tlie  Kau- 

m 


THE   WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

sas  Pacitic  line  following  the  Ilepubliean  val- 
ley, and  stopping  short  at  the  city  of  Denver 
in  Colorado ;  and  there  was  the  Northern 
Pacific  Pailroad,  the  most  ambitious  of  all  the 
later  lines,  which,  starting  from  the  city  of 
Duluth  on  the  western  extremity  of  Lake 
Superior,  traversed  the  northern  half  of  the 
State  of  Minnesota,  crossed  the  sandy  wastes 
of  Dakota,  and  has  just  now  come  heavily  to 
grief  at  the  Big  Bend  of  the  Missouri  River, 
on  the  borders  of  the  "Bad  Lauds"  of  the 
Yellowstone. 

In  an  early  chapter  of  this  book  it  has 
been  remarked  that  the  continent  of  North 
America,  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
sloped  from  south  to  north.  This  slope, 
which  is  observable  from  Mexico  to  the  Arc- 
tic Ocean,  has  an  important  bearing  on  the 
practical  working  of  railroad  lines  across  the 
continent.  The  Union  Pacific  road,  taken  in 
connection  with  the  Central  Pacific,  attains 
at  its  maximum  elevation  an  altitude  of  over 
8,000  feet  above  the  sea-level,  and  runs  for 
over  900  miles  at  an  average  height  of  about 
4,500  feet;  the  Northern  Pacific  reaches  ovc^r 
6,000  feet;  and  fully  half  its  projected  course 
lies  through  a  country-  3,000  to  4,000  feet 
above  ocean-level ;  the  line  of  the  Kansas  Pa- 
cific is  still  more  elevated,  and  the  great  pla- 
teau of  the  Colorado  River  is  more  than 
7,000  feet  above  the  sea.  Continuing  north- 
U2 


APPENDIX. 

ward,  into  Biitisli  territory,  tlio  next  pro- 
jected line  is  that  of  the  Canadian  Tacific 
Railway,  and  it  is  with  this  road  that  our 
business  chiefly  lies  in  these  few  pages  of 
Appendix. 

The  depression,  or  slope,  of  the  prairie 
level  toward  the  north  continues,  with 
marked  regularity,  throughout  the  whole  of 
British  America;  thus  at  the  49th  parallel 
(the  boundary-line  between  Canada  and  the 
United  States),  the  mean  elevation  of  the 
plains  is  about  4,000  feet.  Two  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  north,  or  in  the  53rd  parallel,  it  is 
about  3,000  feet;  and  300  miles  still  farther 
north,  or  about  the  entrance  to  the  Peace 
Kiver  Pass,  it  has  fallen  to  something  like 
1,700  feet  above  the  sea-level. 

But  these  elevations  have  reference  only 
to  the  prairies  at  the  eastern  base  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  We  must  now  glance  at 
the  mountains  themselves,  which  form  the 
real  obstacle  to  interoceanic  lines  of  railroad. 

It  might  be  inferred  from  this  gradual 
slope  of  the  plains  northward,  that  the 
mountain  ranges  followed  the  same  law,  and 
decreased  in  a  corresponding  degree  after  they 
passed  the  49th  parallel,  but  such  is  not  the 
case ;  so  far  from  it,  they  only  attain  their 
maximum  elevation  in  52°  North  latitude, 
where,  from  an  altitude  of  1G,000  feet,  the 
gummits  of  Mounts  Brown  and  Hooker  look 
y43 


'I'lii';  WILD  Noirrii  i,ani). 


down  (HI  lliii  CcrlHi'  |il;iiiis  ;il,  ilic.  sdiirrcH  of 
tli(!  .S;iskai(ilu!\viiii  River. 

As  iniiy  1x1  supposed,  il,  is  only  liere  1,li;d. 
t,lie  lC()cl<y  l\loiinl,;iiiis  picsriil,  Mieiiisidvcs  in 
ilicif  ,l,'l•,■llld(^sl,  I'onii.  Ivisiiig  IVom  a  l)iis(!  only 
."),()()()  I'eel,  above  i]\('.  ocean,  ilieir  I'ldl  llia|,Mii- 
l.ilde  sirikes  at.  once  npo"  t. lie  eye  of  tlni  l)c- 
iioldci-;  wliereas,  when  looked  at.  in  tlie 
Anieiican  SI. at.es  Croiii  a  sl.aiidpoint.  already 
(devatcd  (;,(»(»()  or  7,()()()  Iccl,  above  l.lie  sea, 
ami  lisin^  ""'y  '•>  i'"  ult.il.nde  of  10, 000  or 
lL',000  feet.,  Miey  appear  iiisijj;nillc.aid.,  and 
l.lie  tra\(dler  experiences  a  sense!  of  disap- 
poiidnienl,  as  lie  looks  at;  Ilieir  peaks  thus 
sli^iilly  (devated  above  l.lie  ])lain.  Miit 
IIioni;li  the  suniiiiits  of  the  raiii,^'  increase  in 
hei;.;ht  as  we.  go  nort.li,  the  levels  of  Iho  val- 
leys or  )>asses  de(;rease  in  a,  niosl,  nunarkabh^ 
deL;'ree. 

Let,  us  look  i'or  a  inoment,  al.  these!  gaps 
which  Ts'aiiire  has  foi'iiied  through  t.liis  iiiight.y 
barrier,  'i'wenty  miles  north  of  the  boumhiry 
line  the  Kootanic  Pass  traverses  the  Kocky 
Mountains. 

'I'lie  waters  of  the  I'xdly  iJi  ver  upon  t.lie  east, 
and  those'  of  t.h(!  NVigwani  Kiver  on  t.he  west, 
ha\('  their  sources  in  this  valh^y,  the  liiglu'st 
point,  of  wliitdi  is  more  tliaii  0,()(K)  feet  above 
sea-levtd. 

I'^ifty  miles  north  of  tiie  Kootanic,  tlu' 
Kanauuskiss  Fass  cuts  llie  tluve  parallel 
344 


AITKNIUX. 

r.'ingcH  wlii(!li  ln-it!  form  ilic  Ror-.ky  Moiin- 
laiiis;  tlic  li<!i}^lit  of.  lainl  is  licrc,  r>,700  f(;<'l.. 
'riiiit.y  miles  more  to  tlie  iiorili  tlir;  Vermilion 
I'.iHH  finds  its  liigliost  level  at  A,'M)'A;  tvvftnty 
niilcts  again  to  tlie  north,  tlu;  Kicking  HorK(; 
Tass  icaelies  ^,210  feet;  then  C(jin(i8  the 
House  Pass,  4,500  feet;  and,  lastly,  the  piXHH 
variously  known  by  the  names  of  Jaspei-'s 
IToiise,  Tnt<?  .Teiine,,  and  Lftathei'  Pass,  the 
highest  |)olnt  of  vvliiiOi  is  .'J,  100  feet. 

{"'rom  the  JI(Mis(}  I 'ass  to  the;  'ITitci  Jenne  is 
a  litthi  moie  than  sixty  miles,  and  it  is  a  sin- 
j^Mihir  fa,e,t  tlia.t  tlieso  two  lowest  passes  in  the 
lange  have  lying  betw(;en  tliem  the  loftiest 
SMmmitsof  the  Jioeky  Mountains  from  Mexicio 
to  tlie  Arctic  Ocean. 

'I'lie  outflow  from  all  th(!se  jjasses,  with  the 
exc(!i)tion  of  the  one;  last  nanurd,  hca-Mh  on  the 
east  the  river  Hystems  of  th(!  Saskatchewan, 
and  on  the  west  tlu;  C'olundiia  and  its  trihii- 
tarie.s.  'I"h(!  Tete  tjeiinc,  on  the  other  iiand, 
slnfds  its  dividing  waters  into  tiio  Athahas(;a 
River  on  the  east,  and  into  the  Frazei'  Piv<;r 
on  the  west. 

So  far  we  have  followed  the  monntains  to 
/).T  of  North  latitude;,  and  hert;  we  must 
pause  a  moment  to  glancj;  hack  at  the  long- 
projected  line  of  tlm  Canadian  I'acific  Kail- 
road.  As  we  have,  already  stated,  it  is  now 
nc^arly  twenty  years  sinf^e  tlu;  idea  of  a  rail- 
road through  British  America  was  first  enter- 


THE  WILD  KORTII  LAND. 

tained.  A  few  years  later  a  well-equipped 
expedition  was  sent  out  by  the  British  Gov- 
ernment for  the  pur^jose  of  thoroughly  ex- 
ploring the  prairie  region  lying  between  Ked 
Eiver  and  the  Eocky  Mountains,  and  also 
reporting  upon  the  nature  of  the  passes  trav- 
ersing the  range,  with  a  view  to  the  practica- 
bility of  running  a  railroad  across  the  conti- 
nent. Of  this  expedition  it  will  be  sufficient 
to  observe  that,  while  the  details  of  survey 
were  carried  out  with  minute  attention  and 
much  labour,  the  graver  question,  whether  it 
was  possible  to  carry  a  railroad  through  Brit- 
ish territory  to  the  Pacific,  appears  to  have 
been  imperfectly  examined,  and,  after  a  sur- 
vey extending  as  far  north  as  the  Jasper's 
House  Pass,  but  not  including  that  remarka- 
ble valley,  the  project  was  unfavorably 
reported  upon  by  the  leader  of  the  ex- 
pedition. 

The  reasons  adduced  in  support  of  this 
view  were  strong  ones.  Not  only  had  the 
unfortunate  selection  of  an  astronomical  boun- 
dary-line (the  49th  parallel)  shut  us  out  from 
the  western  extreme  of  Lake  Superior,  and 
left  us  the  Laurentian  wilderness  lying  north 
of  that  lake,  as  a  threshold  to  the  fertile 
lands  of  the  Saskatchewan  and  the  Red  Riv- 
er; but  far  away  to  the  west  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  extending  to  the  very  shores 
of  tiie  Pacific,  there  lay  a  land  of  rugged 


APPENDIX. 

mountains  almost  insurmountable  to  railroad 
enterprise. 

Such  was  the  substance  of  the  report  of  the 
expedition.  It  would  be  a  long,  long  story 
now  to  enter  into  the  details  involved  in  this 
question;  but  one  fact  connected  with  "this 
unfortunate  selection  of  an  astronomical  line  " 
may  here  be  pertinently  alluded  to,  as  evinc- 
ing the  spirit  of  candour,  and  the  tendency  to 
sharp  practice  which  the  Great  Republic  early 
developed  in  its  dealings  with  its  discarded 
mother.  By  the  treaty  of  1783,  the  northern 
limit  of  the  United  States  was  defined  as 
running  from  the  northwest  angle  of  the  Lake 
of  the  Woods  to  the  River  Mississippi  along 
the  49tli  parallel;  but,  as  Ave  have  before 
stated,  the  49th  parallel  did  not  touch  the 
northwest  angle  of  the  Lake  of  the  Woods  or 
the  River  Mississippi ;  the  former  lay  north 
of  it,  the  latter  south.  Here  was  clearly  a 
case  for  a  new  arrangement.  As  matters 
stood  we  had  unquestionably  the  best  of  the 
mistake ;  for,  whereas  the  angle  of  the  Lake 
of  the  Woods  lay  only  a  few  miles  north  of 
the  parallel,  the  extreme  source  of  the  Missis- 
sippi lay  a  long,  long  way  south  of  it;  so 
that  if  we  lost  ten  miles  at  the  beginning  of 
the  line,  we  would  gain  100  or  more  at  the 
end  of  it. 

All  this  did  not  escape  the  eyes  of  the  fur- 
hunteis  in  the   early  days  of  the    century. 


THE  WILD  NORTH   LAND. 

Mackenzie  and  Thompson  both  noticed  it  and 
both  concluded  that  the  objective  point  being 
the  River  Mississippi,  the  line  would  eventu- 
ally be  run  with  a  view  to  its  terminal  defini- 
tions, the  Lake  of  the  Woods  and  the  Missis- 
sippi. In  1806,  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment sent  out  two  exploring  expeditions  into 
its  newly  acquired  territory  of  Louisiana ;  one 
of  them,  in  charge  of  a  Mr.  Zebulon  Pike  of 
the  American  army,  ascended  the  Mississippi, 
and  crossed  from  thence  to  Lake  kSuperior. 
Here  are  his  remarks  upon  the  boundary  line : 
"The  admission  of  this  pretension"  (the  ter- 
minal point  at  the  River  Mississippi)  ''  will 
throw  out  of  our  territory  the  upper  portion 
of  Red  River,  and  nearly  two-fifths  of  the 
territory  of  Louisiana;  whereas  if  the  line  is 
run  due  west  from  the  head  of  the  Lake  of 
the  Woods,  it  will  cross  Red  River  nearly  at 
the  centre,  and  strike  the  Western  Ocean  at 
Queen  Charlotte's  Sound.  This  difference  of 
opinion,  it  is  presumed,  might  be  easily  ad- 
justed between  the  two  Governinents  at  the 
present  day;  but  delay,  by  unfolding  tlie  true 
value  of  the  countnj,  may  produce  difficulties 
which  do  not  now  exist." 

The  italics  are  mine. 

Zebulon  Pike  lias  long  passed  to  his  Puri- 
tan fathers.  Twelve  years  after  he  had  vis- 
ited the  shores  of  Lake  Superior,  and  long 
before  our  Government  knew  "the  value  of 
3-i« 


APPENDIX. 

the  country"  of  which  it  was  discoursing,  the 
matter  was  arranged  to  the  entire  satisfaction 
of  Pike  and  his  countrymen.  They  hehl  te- 
naciously to  their  end,  the  Lake,  of  tlie 
Woods;  we  hastened  to  abandon  ours,  the 
Mississippi  River.  All  this  is  past  and  gone ; 
but  if  to-day  we  write  Fish,  or  Sumner,  or 
any  other  of  the  many  names  which  figure 
in  boundary  commissions  or  consequential 
claims,  instead  of  that  of  Zebulon  Pike,  the 
change  of  signature  will  but  slightly  affect  the 
character  of  the  document. 

But  we  must  return  to  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. It  has  ever  been  the  habit  of  explorers 
in  the  northwest  of  America  to  imagine  that 
beyond  the  farthest  extreme  to  which  they 
penetrate  there  lay  a  region  of  utter  worth- 
lessness.  One  hundred  years  ago,  Niagara 
lay  on  the  confines  of  the  habitable  earth ; 
fifty  years  ago  a  man  travelling  in  what  are 
now  the  States  of  Wisconsin  and  Minnesota 
would  have  been  far  beyond  the  faintest  echo 
of  civilization.  So  each  one  thought,  as  in 
after-time  fresh  regions  were  brought  within 
the  limits  of  the  settler.  The  Government 
Exploring  Expedition  of  sixteen  years  since 
deemed  that  it  had  exhausted  the  regions  fit 
for  settlement  when  it  reached  the  northern 
boundary  of  the  Saskatchewan  valley.  The 
project  of  a  railroad  through  Britisli  territory 
was  judged  upon  the  merits  of  the  mountains 
849 


THE   WILD  XOPvTTT   LAND. 

lying  west  of  tlie  sources  of  the  Saskatche- 
wan, and  the  hihyrinth  of  rock  and  i)eak 
stretching  ])et\\een  the  Kocky  Mountains  and 
the  Pacific  Even  to-day,  witli  the  knowl- 
edge of  further  exploration  in  its  possessions, 
the  Government  of  the  Dominion  of  Canada 
seems  bent  upon  making  a  similar  error.  A 
line  has  been  projected  across  the  continent, 
which,  if  followed,  must  entail  ruin  upon  the 
persons  who  would  attempt  to  settle  along  it 
upon  the  bleak  treeless  prairies  east  of  the 
mountains,  and  lead  to  an  expenditure  west 
of  the  range,  in  crossing  the  multitudinous 
ranges  of  Middle  and  Southern  British  Co- 
lumbia, which  must  ever  prevent  its  being  a 
remunerative  enterprise. 

The  Tete  Jeune  Pass  is  at  present  the  one 
selected  for  the  passage  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. This  pass  has  many  things  to  recom- 
mend it,  so  far  as  it  is  immediately  connected 
with  the  range  which  it  traverses ;  but  unfor- 
tunately the  real  obstacles  become  only  ap- 
parent when  its  western  extremity  is  reached, 
and  the  impassable  "  divide "  between  the 
Frazer,  the  Columbia,  and  the  Thompson 
Rivers  looms  up  before  the  traveller.  It  is 
true  that  the  canon  valley  of  the  North 
Thompson  lies  open,  but  to  follow  this  outlet 
is  to  face  still  more  imposing  obstacles  where 
the  Thompson  River  unites  with  the  Frazer 
at    Lytton,    some   250   miles  nearer   to   the 


APPENDIX, 

south-west;  here,  along  tlio  Frazov,  tlic  Cas- 
cade Mountaius  lift  their  nigged  licuds,  and 
tlie  river  for  full  sixty  miles  flows  at  llic  bot- 
tom of  a  vast  tangle  cut  by  nature  through 
the  heart  of  the  mountains,  whose  stee})  sides 
rise  abruptly  from  the  water's  edge :  in  many 
places  a  wall  of  rock. 

In  fact,  it  is  useless  to  disguise  that  the 
Frazer  River  affords  the  sole  outlet  from  that 
portion  of  the  Rocky  ]\Iountains  lying  between 
the  boundary  line,  the  53rd  parallel  of  lati- 
tude, and  the  Pacific  Ocean ;  and  that  the 
Frazer  River  valley  is  one  so  singularly 
formed  that  it  would  seem  as  though  some 
superhuman  sword  had  at  a  single  stroke  cut 
through  a  labyrinth  of  mountains  for  300 
miles,  down  deep  into  the  bowels  of  the  land. 

Let  us  suppose  that  the  mass  of  mountains 
lying  west  of  the  Tete  Jeune  has  been  found 
practicable  for  a  line,  and  that  the  Frazer 
River  has  been  finally  reached  on  any  part  of 
its  course  between  Quesnelle  and  the  Cascade 
range  at  Lytton. 

What  then  would  be  the  result? 

Simply  this  :  to  turn  south  along  the  valley 
of  the  river  would  be  to  face  the  canons  of 
the  Cascades,  oetween  Lytton  and  Yale.  To 
hold  west  would  be  to  cross  the  Frazer  River 
itself,  and  by  following  the  Chilcotin  River, 
reach  the  Pacific  Ocean  at  a  point  above  200 
miles  north  of  the  estuary  of  the  Frazer. 
851 


THE   AVI  LI)   NORTH  LAND. 

But  to  cross  this  Frazer  River  would  be  a 
work  of  eiionuoiis  uiagnitude  —  a  work 
greater,  1  believe,  than  any  at  present  exist- 
ing on  the  earth  :  for  at  no  point  of  its  course 
from  Quesnelle  to  Lytton  is  the  Frazer  River 
less  than  1,200  feet  below  the  level  of  the 
land  lying  at  either  side  of  it,  and  from  one 
steep  scarped  bank  to  the  other  is  a  distance 
of  a  mile,  or  more  than  a  mile 

How,  I  ask,  is  this  mighty  fissure,  extend- 
ing right  down  the  country  from  north  to 
south,  to  be  crossed,  and  a  passage  gained  to 
the  Pacific?  I  answer  that  the  trxie  passage  to 
the  Pacific  lies  far  north  of  the  Frazer  River, 
and  that  the  true  passage  of  the  Rochij  Moun- 
tains lies  far  north  of  the  Tete  Jeune  Pass. 

And  now  it  will  be  necessary  to  travel 
north  from  this  Tete  Jeune  Pass,  along  the 
range  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

One  hundred  miles  north  of  the  Tete  Jeune, 
on  the  east  or  Saskatchewan  side  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  there  lies  a  beautiful  land. 
It  is  some  of  the  richest  prairie  land  in  the 
entire  range  of  the  Northwest.  It  has  wood 
and  water  in  abundance.  On  its  western  side 
the  mountains  rise  with  an  ascent  so  gradual 
that  horses  can  be  ridden  to  the  summits  of 
the  outer  range,  and  into  the  valley  lying  be- 
tween that  range  and  the  Central  Mountain. 

To  the  north  of  this  prairie  country  lies  the 
Peace  River;  south,  the  Lesser  Slave  Lake; 
3.53 


APPEXDTX. 

east,  a  land  of  tlie  wood  and  mnsky  and  track- 
less forest.  The  Smoking  Tliver  Hows  almost 
through  its  centre,  rising  near  Jasper's  House, 
and  flowing  nortli  and  east  until  it  passes  into 
the  Peace  River,  fifty  miles  below  Dunvegan. 
From,  the  most  northerly  point  of  the  fertile 
land  of  the  Saskatchewan,  to  the  most  soiith- 
erly  point  of  this  Smoking  River  country,  is 
about  100  or  120  miles.  The  intervening 
land  is  forest  or  musky,  and  partly  open. 

The  average  elevation  of  this  prairie  above 
sea-level  Avould  be  under  2,000  feet.  In  the 
mountains  lying  west  and  northwest  there  are 
two  passes;  one  is  the  Peace  River,  with 
which  we  are  already  acquainted ;  the  other 
is  a  pass  lying  some  thirty  or  forty  miles 
south  of  the  Peace  River,  known  at  present 
only  to  the  Indians,  but  well  worth  the  trou- 
ble and  expense  of  a  thorough  exploration, 
ere  Canada  hastily  decides  upon  the  best  route 
across  its  wide  Dominion. 

And  here  I  may  allude  to  the  exploratory 
surveys  which  the  Canadian  Government  has 
already  inaugurated.  A  great  amount  of  work 
has  without  doubt  been  accomplished,  by  the 
several  parties  sent  out  over  the  long  line 
from  Ottawa  to  New  Westminster;  but  tlie 
result,  have  not  been,  so  far,  equal  to  the  ex- 
pendit'ue  of  the  surveys,  or  to  the  means 
*laced  at  the  disposal  of  the  various  i)arties. 
In  all  these  matters,  tlie  strength  of  an  Exec- 
353 


THE  WILD  NORTH  LAND. 

iitive  Government  resting  for  a  term  of  years 
independent  of  political  parties,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  United  States,  becomes  vividly  appar- 
ent; and  it  is  not  necessary  for  ns  in  England 
to  seek  in  Canada  for  an  exemplilication  of 
the  evils  which  militate  against  a  great  na- 
tional undertaking,  where  an  Executive  has 
to  frame  a  budget,  or  produce  a  report,  to  suit 
the  delicate  digestions  of  evenly  balanced  par- 
ties. 

It  would  be  invidious  to  particularize  indi- 
viduals, where  many  men  have  worked  well 
and  earnestly ;  but  I  cannot  refrain  from  pay- 
ing a  passing  tribute  to  the  energy  and  ear- 
nestness displayed  by  the  gentlemen  who, 
during  the  close  of  the  summer  of  1872, 
crossed  the  mountains  by  the  Peace  Eiver 
Pass,  and  reached  the  coast  at  Fort  Simpson, 
near  the  mouth  of  the  Skeena  River. 

But  to  return  to  the  Indian  pass,  lying 
west  of  the  Smoking  River  prairies.  As  I 
have  already  stated,  this  pass  is  known  only 
to  the  Indians ;  yet  their  report  of  it  is  one  of 
great  moment.  They  say  (and  Avho  has  found 
an  Indian  wrong  in  matters  of  practical  engi- 
neering?) that  they  can  go  in  three  or  four 
days'  journey  from  the  Hope  of  Hudson  to 
the  fort  on  Lake  Macleod,  across  the  Rocky 
Mountains;  they  further  assert  that  they  can 
in  summer  take  horses  to  the  central  range, 
and  that  they  could  take  them  all  the  way 
3r)4 


APPENDIX, 

across  to  the  west  side,  but  for  the  fallen 
timber  which  encumbers  the  Avestern  slope. 

Now  when  it  is  borne  in  mind  that  this 
Lake  Macleod  is  situated  near  the  height  of 
land  between  the  Arctic  and  Pacific  Oceans ; 
that  it  stands  at  the  head  of  the  Parsnip  River 
(the  south  branch  of  the  Peace);  and  that, 
further,  a  level  or  rolling  plateau  extends 
from  the  fort  to  the  coast  range  of  moun- 
tains at  Dean's  Inlet,  or  the  Bentinck  arm  on 
the  coast  of  British  Columbia,  nearly  oppo- 
site the  northern  extreme  of  Vancouver's 
Island,  the  full  importance  of  this  Indian 
pass,  as  a  highway  to  the  Pacific  through  the 
Kocky  Mountains,  will  be  easily  understood. 

But  should  this  Indian  pass  at  the  head  of 
the  Pine  River  prove  to  be,  on  examination, 
unfit  to  carry  a  railroad  across,  I  am  still  of 
opinion  that  in  that  case  the  Peace  River 
affords  a  passage  to  the  "Western  Ocean  vastly 
superior  to  any  of  the  known  passes  lying 
south  of  it.  What  are  the  advantages  which 
I  claim  for  it?     They  can  be  briefly  stated. 

It  is  level  throughout  its  entire  course ;  it 
has  a  wide,  deep,  and  navigable  river  flowing 
through  it ;  its  highest  elevation  in  the  main 
range  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  is  about  1,800 
feet ;  the  average  depth  of  its  winter  fall  of 
snow  is  abovit  three  feet ;  by  the  first  week  of 
May  this  year  the  snow  (unusually  deep  dur- 
ing the  winter)  had  entirely  disappeared 
355 


THE  WILD   NOPTH  LAND. 

from  the  north  shore  of  the  river,  and  vege- 
tation Avas  already  forward  in  the  woods 
along  the  mountain  base. 

But  though  these  are  important  advantages 
for  this  mountain  ])ass,  the  most  important  of 
all  remains  to  be  stated.  From  the  western 
end  of  the  pass  to  the  coast  range  of  moun- 
tains, a  distance  of  300  miles  across  British 
Columbia,  there  does  not  exist  one  single  for- 
midable impediment  to  a  railroad.  By  follow- 
ing the  valley  of  the  Parsnip  River  from  "  the 
Forks  "  to  Lake  Macleod,  the  Ominica  range 
is  left  on  the  north,  and  the  rolling  plateau 
land  of  Stuart's  Lake  is  reached  Avithout  a 
single  mountain  intervening;  from  thence  the 
valley  of  the  Nacharcole  can  be  attained,  as 
we  have  seen  in  my  story,  without  the  slight- 
est difficulty,  and  a  line  of  country  followed 
to  within  twenty  miles  of  the  ocean,  at  the 
head  of  Dean's  Inlet. 

I  claim,  moreover,  for  this  route,  that  it  is 
shorter  than  any  projected  line  at  present  un- 
der consideration ;  that  it  would  develop  a 
land  as  rich,  if  not  richer,  than  any  portion 
of  the  Saskatchewan  territory;  that  it  alto- 
gether avoids  the  tremendous  mountain  ranges 
of  Southern  British  Columbia,  and  the  great 
gorge  of  the  Frazer  River;  and,  finally,  that 
along  the  Nacharcole  River  there  will  be 
found  a  country  admirably  suited  to  settle- 
ment, and  possessing  prairie  land  of  a  kind 
356 


APPENDIX. 

nowhere  else  to  be  found  in  British  Cokim- 
bia. 

With  regard  to  the  climate  of  the  country 
lying  east  of  the  mountains,  those  who  have 
followed  me  through  my  journey  will  remem- 
ber the  state  in  which  I  found  the  prairies  of 
Chimeroo  on  the  22nd  and  23rd  of  April,  snow 
all  gone  and  mosquitoes  already  at  work. 
Canadians  will  understand  these  items.  I 
have  looked  from  the  ramparts  of  Quebec  on 
the  second  last  day  of  April,  and  seen  the 
wide  landscape  still  white  with  the  winter's 
snow. 

In  the  foregoing  sentences  I  have  briefly 
pointed  out  the  advantages  of  the  Peace  Kiver 
Pass,  the  absence  of  mountain  ranges  in  the 
valleys  of  the  Parsnip  and  Nacharcole  Rivers, 
and  the  fertile  nature  of  the  country  between 
the  Lesser  Slave  Lake  and  the  eastern  base  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains.  It  only  remains  to 
speak  of  the  connecting  line  between  the 
Saskatchewan  territory  and  the  Smoking 
River  prairies. 

The  present  projected  line  througli  tlie 
Saskatchewan  is  eminently  unsuited  to  the 
settlement;  it  crosses  the  bleak,  poor  prairies 
of  the  Eagle  Hills,  the  country  where,  as  de- 
scribed in  an  earlier  chapter,  we  hunted  the 
buffalo  during  the  month  of  November  in  the 
preceding  year.  For  all  purposes  of  settle- 
ment it  may  be  said  to  lie  fully  eighty  miles 
357 


THE    WILD   NORTH   LAND. 

too  far  south  during  a  course  of  some  300  or 
400  miles. 

The  experience  of  those  most  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  territory  points  to  a  line 
north  of  the  North  Saskatchewan  as  one 
best  calculated  to  reach  the  country  really 
fitted  for  ijiimediate  settlement;  a  country 
where  rich  soil,  good  water,  and  abundant 
Avood  for  fuel  and  building  can  be  easily  ob- 
tained. All  of  these  essentials  are  almost 
wholly  wanting  along  the  present  projected 
route  throughout  some  350  miles  of  its 
course. 

Now  if  we  take  a  line  from  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  Mission  of  Prince  Albert,  and 
continue  it  through  the  very  rich  and  fertile 
country  lying  twenty  or  thirty  miles  to  the 
north  of  Carlton,  and  follow  it  still  further 
to  a  point  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  north  of 
Fort  Pitt,  we  will  be  about  the  centre  of  the 
true  Fertile  Belt  of  this  portion  of  the  conti- 
nent. Continuing  northwest  for  another  sixty 
miles,  we  would  reach  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  Lac  la  Biche  (a  French  mission,  Avhere  all 
crops  have  been  most  successfully  cultivated 
for  many  years),  and  be  on  the  watershed  of 
the  Northern  Ocean. 

Crossing  the  Athabasca,  near  the  point 
Avhere  it  receives  the  Riviere  la  Biche,  a  re- 
gion ot  presiiincd  musky  or  swamp  would  be 
encountered,  but  one  neither  so  extensive  nor 
358 


APPE^'niX. 

of  as  serious  a  character  as  that  whicli  occurs 
on  the  line  at  present  projected  between  the 
Saskatchewan  and  Jas])er's  House. 

The  opinions  thus  briefly  stated  regarding 
the  best  route  for  a  C'anadian-Pacitic  llailroad 
across  the  continent  result  from  no  inconsider- 
able experience  in  the  Kortliwest  Territory, 
nor  are  they  held  solely  by  myself.  I  could 
quote,  if  necessary,  very  much  evidence  in 
support  of  them  from  the  testimony  of  those 
who  have  seen  portions  of  the  route  in- 
dicated. 

In  the  deed  of  surrender,  by  which  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  transferred  to  the 
Government  of  Canada  the  Territory  of  the 
Northwest,  the  Fertile  Belt  was  defined  as 
being  bounded  on  the  north  by  the  North 
Saskatchewan  River.  It  will  yet  be  found 
that  there  are  ten  acres  of  fertile  land  lying 
north  of  the  North  Saskatchewan  for  every 
one  acre  lying  south  of  it. 

These  few  pages  of  Apj^endix  must  here 
end.  There  yet  remain  many  subjects  con- 
nected with  the  settlement  of  Indian  tribes 
of  the  West  and  their  protection  against  the 
inevitable  injustice  of  the  incoming  settler, 
and  to  these  I  would  like  to  call  attc-.ition, 
but  there  is  not  time  to  do  so. 

Already  the  low  surf-beat  shores  of  West 
Africa  have  been  visible  for  days,  and  'midst 
359 


THE   AVILD   NORTH  LAND. 

the  sultry  atmosphere  of  the  Tropics  it  has 
become  no  easy  task  to  fling  back  one's 
thoughts  into  the  cold  solitudes  of  the  north- 
ern wilds. 

Sierra  Leone,  October  15,  1873. 


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ing the  series  within  the  means  of  everyone. 

The  List  of  Titles  selected  is  as  follows  : 

HISTORY  OF  THE  EXPEDITION  UNDER 
THE  COMMAND  OF  CAPTAINS  LEWIS 
AND  CLARK. 

To  the  Sources  of  the  Missouri,  across  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  down  the  Columbia  River  to  the  Pacific 
in  1804-6. 

An  unabridged  reprint  of  the  edition  of  1814  to 
which  all  the  members  of  the  expedition  contributed. 
With  portraits  and  maps.  3  vols. 


THE     HISTORY     OF    THE      FIVE      INDIAN 
NATIONS    OF    CANADA 

Which  are  dependent  on  the  Province  of  New  York, 
and  are  a  barrier  between  the  English  and  the  French 
in  that  part  ot  the  world. 

By  Hon.  Cadvvallader  Golden.  With  map  and 
portrait.  2  vols. 

Mr.  Colden  was  regarded  as  the  best  informed  man 
in  the  New  World  on  the  affairs  of  the  British-Amer- 
ican Colonies.  That  he  was  highly  regarded  by  the 
Indians  may  be  seen  from  the  fact  that  he  was  adopted 
by  the  Mohawks.  As  he  was  Surveyor-General  of 
the  Colony  of  New  York,  he  had  access  to  sources  of 
information  not  usually  open  to  writers,  all  of  which 
he  made  full  use.  His  book  is  a  masterpiece  in  its 
intimate  and  comprehensive  review  of  Indian  life. 

LITERATURE    AND    DOGMA. 

An  Essay  towards  a  better  Apprehension  of  the 
Bible.  By  Matthew  Arnold,  D.C.L.  With  por- 
trait. I  vol. 

Literature  and  Dogma  is  one  of  the  famous  books 
of  the  world's  literature.  Never  has  literary  style 
been  carried  to  greater  perfection  than  here.  Conse- 
quently it  is  held  as  a  model  to  all  future  writers. 
Apart  from  its  grace  and  beauty  of  style,  its  vigorous 
straightforward  argument  will  always  command  for  it 
multitudes  of  readers. 

MACKENZIE'S  VOYAGES  TO  THE  FROZEN 
AND  PACIFIC  OCEANS  IN  1789  AND  1793. 

With  an  Account  of  the  Rise  and  State  of  the  Fur 
Trade.  By  Alexander  Mackenzie.  With  portrait 
and  map.  2  vols. 

This  rare  work  has  never  been  reprinted  since  18 14. 
As  Mackenzie  was  the  first  white  man  to  cross  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  as  he  discovered  the  great  Mac- 
kenzie River  which  he  followed  to  the  Arctic  Ocean, 
as  he  wrote  a  History  of  the  Early  Fur  Trade,  it  will 
be  evident  how  important  his  book  is  to  modern  readers. 


AJOURNAL  OF  VOYAGES  AND  TRAVELS  IN 
THE  INTERIOR    OF   NORTH  AMERICA, 

Between  the  47th  and  58th  degrees  of  N.  Lat.,  ex- 
tending from  Montreal  nearly  to  the  Pacific,  a  distance 
of  about  5,000  miles,  Including  an  Account  of  the 
Principal  Occurrences  during  a  Residence  of  19  years 
in  different  Parts  of  the  Country. 

By  Daniel  Williams  Harmon,  a  partner  in  the 
Northwest  Company.  With  photogravure  portrait 
and  map.  1  vol. 

An  unabridged  reprint  of  the  scarce  1820  Andover 
Edition  of  this  famous  book  of  travel.  In  his  book 
the  author  includes  a  concise  description  of  the  face  of 
the  country,  its  inhabitants  (the  Indians),  their  man- 
ners, customs,  laws,  religion,  etc.,  and  considerable 
specimens  of  the  two  languages  most  extensively 
spoken ;  together  with  an  account  of  the  principal 
animals  to  be  found  in  the  forests  and  prairies  of  this 
extensive  region. 


THE   LIFE    AND    VOYAGES    OF   AMERICUS 
VESPUCIUS. 

With  illustrations  concerning  the  navigator  and  the 
discovery  of  the  New  World.  By  C.  Edwards  Les- 
ter, U.  S.  Consul  to  Genoa,  1845  ;  assisted  by  An- 
drew Foster.     With  photogravure  portrait.  i  vol. 

The  strange  history  of  the  navigator  and  astronomer 
who  gave  his  name  to  this  country.  The  story  of  his 
voyages  and  discoveries  is  not  known  to  the  average 
reader.  For  instance,  how  many  people  know  that 
Vespucius  was  the  discoverer  of  the  great  territory  now 
known  as  the  Republic  of  Brazil  ?  His  fate  was  but 
little  better  than  Columbus',  and  the  story  of  his  career 
reads  like  a  romance.  This  volume  contains  the  fa- 
mous Medici  and  Soderini  letters. 


A  HISTORY  OF  WILLIAM  PENN,  FOUNDER 
OF  PENNSYLVANIA. 

By  W.  Hepworth  Dixon.  With  portrait,  i  vol. 
This  famous  book  reads  more  like  a  romance  than 
credible  history.  Penn's  vicissitudes  would  have 
daunted  most  men.  Yet  he  overcame  every  obstacle, 
and  founded  one  of  the  most  prosperous  of  the  Amer- 
ican Commonwealths.     His  story  is  most  fascinating. 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY. 
By  P.  H.  GossE.     With  frontispiece.  i  vol. 

There  is  no  "  dry-as-dust  "  writing  in  this  remark- 
able work.  It  is  the  true  naturalist's  contemplation 
of  the  life  histories  of  the  creatures  around  him, 
written  with  sympathy  and  accurate  knowledge.  Mr. 
Thompson-Seton  never  accomplished  better  work  in 
this  field. 

THE  WILD  NORTHLAND. 

Being  the  Story  of  a  Winter  Journey,  with  Dog, 
across  Northern  North  America.  By  Gen.  Sir  Wm. 
Francis  Butler,  K.  C.  B. 

With  a  route  map.  i  vol. 

By  common  accord,  Gen.  Butler's  account  of  his 
lonely  ride  and  tramp  through  the  ice-bound  regions 
of  the  North  has  been  placed  high  among  the  many 
masterly  books  of  travel.  The  reader  follows  Butler 
and  his  dog,  Cerf-Vola,  with  sympathetic  interest 
from  first  to  last.  The  vivid  descriptions  of  the 
strange,  unknown  country  on  the  border  of  the 
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